


Of Clubs and Staves

by HarlotsHouse



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: AU, Anal Sex, Attempted Murder, Branding, But they’ll meet alright, Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Violence, Choking, Dead People, Don’t steal my art please I made it for this fic, Emotional Infidelity, Emotional Manipulation, Fanart, Forced fainting, Gaslighting, Gen, Gore, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter is Obsessed with Will Graham, Hannibal and Will did not meet at the fbi, Infidelity, Jealous Hannibal Lecter, Jealous Will Graham, Jealous behavior, Kidnapping?, Knifeplay?, M/M, Manipulation, Morally Grey Will, Murder, MurderHusbands, Mutilation, Not Beta Read, Obsessive Behavior, OnesidedMatthewxWill, Oral Sex, Possesive Hannibal, Possessiveness, Sassy Will Graham, Sex, StalkerHannibal, Stalking, Theft, Thief Will Graham, Unless you’re not a coward, We Die Like Men, Will Graham Doesn't Need Help, Will Graham Loves Dogs, Will Graham has dark thoughts, getting tied up in a non kinky way, implied sex, pretentious art references, really obsessive behavior, sorry molly, temporary MollyxWill
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:54:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27584381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarlotsHouse/pseuds/HarlotsHouse
Summary: “Have you found anything yet?” Matthew’s static-like voice said from Will’s ear piece.“I found a key to the attic door-“ Will said as he swung the door open.He froze at the sight before him. From the ceiling of the dark room, to the floor, the walls were covered in photographs of Will.“Will! Will, you need to get out of there!”
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Matthew Brown(One-Sided)
Comments: 166
Kudos: 490





	1. Intro

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time posting on this site and writing for this pairing so bare with me. I drew all the art in this chapter so please do not report my art, but if you do at least link this page. I hope you all like it :).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first time posting on this site and writing for this pairing so bare with me. I drew all the art in this chapter so please do not report my art, but if you do at least link this page. I hope you all like it :).
> 
> Edit: Finally changed this chapter to present tense like the rest.

Small dust motes glide around under the moonlight beam coming through the window, companions to the stale oxygen that fills the uptown house. Despite its creaks and cracks, the home is clean and almost pristine if not for a few littered items; a toy, a forgotten sweater, some playing cards on the living room table, all signs of family. Like any night such as this, Will falls into any easy cadence through the plundering procedure, darkly clothed, meshing into the shadows, lithe movements enabling to become with them.

Swerving around a square pillar, Will finds himself at the mouth of a long hallway. He smoothly passes by the first two rooms, both indicative as belonging to the home's children 'Stacy' and 'Kevin' by colorful name tags hung on their tall white doors.

Once in the master bedroom, Will takes little hesitation. He doesn't have to look far, the safe is in the closet, proud and silver, scarcely hidden. Seafoam eyes roll so far up into his skull they run danger of dislodging themselves and entering his cranium. Rich people always believe themselves invisible. Nevertheless, this makes his job easy.

It is a flimsy safe, an outdated model that won't even need any lock picking. Will takes out a screwdriver from his belt and begins unhooking the nails bolting it to the closet wall. Sure enough, a few drops on its 45° axis and a hammer tap has it cracking open with a sharp _clang_.

The inside contains the usual; family documents, certificates, an heirloom or two, and cash. Will doesn't waste his time collecting checks as those are far too easy to track down, and he isn't desperate for money. Hasn't been for a good year now. He takes out a watch from the safe, the initials 'B.C.' inscribed on its back in loopy cursive. It is antiquated, its gold surface still fine and sleek but cracked at the edges. With a little varnishing, it could be perfect. The melodic sound of clockwork gives Will a sense of peace, juxtaposed with the suspended air, the firm little tick-tock almost resembles loud booming, steady, and matching Will's breathing. Will pockets it in his satchel, along with what is at least six grand in cash.

With the safe shoved back into its cranny, Will stands up and makes his way to the first floor. It will probably be a few weeks before the family realizes someone has busted their safe. Unbothered, Will leaves the premises.

————

* * *

The bed creaks under Will's collapsing weight. It'd been an easy job, but he feels the usual dread eating away at him, he is going to lie to Molly in the morning for the umpteenth time and no amount of excuses can justify it. He glances to his left, where she lies beside him, breathing evenly. Blonde strands fan out across the expanse of her forehead. Will smiles bittersweetly at her.

It has been a year since he started robbing upper-middle to high-class homes. A year and two months since he's resigned his consultant job at the FBI. A year and three months since the visions of his work ate away at his psyche and threatened to turn him into the type of monster he swore to catch and bring to justice. Nevertheless, Will had been willing to continue to torment himself with the sights of mutilated cadavers and the grim knowledge that he might be just as bad as the killers who'd made them if it meant he could continue to prevent more deaths. Were it not for Molly, sweet Molly who cared, who convinced him to take care of himself, Will would still be out there, spiraling until he became a shell of himself.

Despite his immeasurable disappointment, Jack did not fault Will, he let him go with great reluctance, ultimately knowing Will was still human. Inevitably, humans broke.

Perhaps _broken_ is a strong word. The type of descriptor one gives fine china with little flowers embossed on the porcelain, fragile and lovely. Will is neither of those things. No, a better comparison would be found in the midst of a man in a burning building, calmly watching everyone outside - most wishing to save him, some aiming to watch him burn- as the walls around him crumble and smoke fills his lungs with debris, brain grilled alive as its last neuron throbs. Until eventually medication, for all its past failures to help Will, had cured his encephalitis. Furthermore, Will is sure he could find an honest job to support his new family. There's no need for theft or any low thrill he may get from it.

Normal life is, more than ever, easily attainable.

Will flips himself to face the ceiling. A slithering tendril of tension slowly oozes its way into his stomach. _Something is off._ Something has _been_ off. Far before Molly or Jack and the FBI came along. But here it lies now, at the pit of his stomach, in the corners of his brain, the joints of his bones, the veins of his blood, ever dormant but still ever-present. Darkness, that like an itch he can't quite scratch, or more accurately, like a wound that can never heal, stayed fervent, desperate for attention.

In the recesses of his mind, Will has fantasized several times of gouging his eyes out to prevent looking at it. As if looking meant accepting it, welcoming it, inviting it in. In a poorman's version of a straight jacket he's committed something as inane as theft. Committing a little evil to keep a greater one away. Holding off the grand darkness' nativity for as long as he can manage. Will knows better than to fool himself that he can ever get rid of it, or that it won't one day take complete hold of him.

The money he makes from robbing goes to a fund under his surrogate son's name and the local animal shelter. His old savings pay for his current bills. Therefore theft is not justifiable in Will's situation, but it is his only coping form at the moment, albeit an unhealthy one. In the pit of his thoughts, were everything unsavory and obtrusive lives, theft is saintly in comparison to what sleeps there.

———————

The bed creaks under Will's collapsing weight. It'd been an easy job, but he feels the usual dread eating away at him, he is going to lie to Molly in the morning for the umpteenth time and no amount of excuses can justify it. He glances to his left, where she lies beside him, breathing evenly. Blonde strands fan out across the expanse of her forehead. Will smiles bittersweetly at her.

It has been a year since he started robbing upper-middle to high-class homes. A year and two months since he's resigned his consultant job at the FBI. A year and three months since the visions of his work ate away at his psyche and threatened to turn him into the type of monster he swore to catch and bring to justice. Nevertheless, Will had been willing to continue to torment himself with the sights of mutilated cadavers and the grim knowledge that he might be just as bad as the killers who'd made them if it meant he could continue to prevent more deaths. Were it not for Molly, sweet Molly who cared, who convinced him to take care of himself, Will would still be out there, spiraling until he became a shell of himself.

Despite his immeasurable disappointment, Jack did not fault Will, he let him go with great reluctance, ultimately knowing Will was still human. Inevitably, humans broke.

Perhaps _broken_ is a strong word. The type of descriptor one gives fine china with little flowers embossed on the porcelain, fragile and lovely. Will is neither of those things. No, a better comparison would be found in the midst of a man in a burning building, calmly watching everyone outside - most wishing to save him, some aiming to watch him burn- as the walls around him crumble and smoke fills his lungs with debris, brain grilled alive as its last neuron throbs. Until eventually medication, for all its past failures to help Will, had cured his encephalitis. Furthermore, Will is sure he could find an honest job to support his new family. There's no need for theft or any low thrill he may get from it.

Normal life is, more than ever, easily attainable.

Will flips himself to face the ceiling. A slithering tendril of tension slowly oozes its way into his stomach. _Something is off._ Something has _been_ off. Far before Molly or Jack and the FBI came along. But here it lies now, at the pit of his stomach, in the corners of his brain, the joints of his bones, the veins of his blood, ever dormant but still ever-present. Darkness, that like an itch he can't quite scratch, or more accurately, like a wound that can never heal, stayed fervent, desperate for attention.

In the recesses of his mind, Will has fantasized several times of gouging his eyes out to prevent looking at it. As if looking meant accepting it, welcoming it, inviting it in. In a poorman's version of a straight jacket he's committed something as inane as theft. Committing a little evil to keep a greater one away. Holding off the grand darkness' nativity for as long as he can manage. Will knows better than to fool himself that he can ever get rid of it, or that it won't one day take complete hold of him.

The money he makes from robbing goes to a fund under his surrogate son's name and the local animal shelter. His old savings pay for his current bills. Therefore theft is not justifiable in Will's situation, but it is his only coping form at the moment, albeit an unhealthy one. In the pit of his thoughts, were everything unsavory and obtrusive lives, theft is saintly in comparison to what sleeps there.

—

* * *

"Will...Will, honey, wake up."

A loud groan is muffled by Will's pillow.

"A man is asking for you at the door. He says his name is Matthew Brown."

Will shoots up from the pillow, rubbing the sleep from his eyes in annoyance. _What the fuck is he doing here?_

Molly sighs and sits at the edge of the bed, "Are we going to talk about why you weren't in bed last night?"

"We'll talk later, I promise." Will shrugs a flannel on.

A thin line forms on Molly's lips, but she says nothing, choosing instead to follow Will to the front door downstairs.

On their front porch, in a far too early hour of the day, stands a tall man with short dark hair. He looks at ease in his black Armani trench coat. Matthew always casually strolls around like he is welcomed everywhere and anywhere, lips etched with permanent amusement, though his eyes remain carefully blank.

"What do you want Matthew?"

"Woke you up, sleeping beauty?" Matthew flashes a shit-eating grin.

Molly's studying gaze flickers between the two men.

"How do you know Will?"

"He's-"

"I'm his ex."

At this Will glares at Matthew. Molly looks faintly surprised.

Matthew chuckles at Will's expression, "Just kidding."

Will wonders how Matthew would react if he punched him across the nose. _'Just kidding'_ Will would say as Matthew bled. His usual satisfied little smirk might finally disappear then.

"He's a college buddy of mine...I've been helping him fix his boat's motor," Will rubs the back of his neck.

Molly stiffens slightly. For a mildly heart wrenching moment Will unrealistically thinks she's figured out just what he's been up to last night. "Is he who you've been hanging out with every now and then at ungodly hours?"

"Yeah, uhh, we get drinks every so often," Will says softly, eyes carefully avoiding those watching him.

Will quickly adverts his gaze as Matthew's eyebrows give a slight raise. Anyone else wouldn't notice what is to Will an obvious _'Oh that's interesting. Please lie to your fiancée more for me Will'_ face. If he didn't cut this conversation soon Matthew would take it as invitation to start making up fallacies about young college Will Graham. _'Oh yes, future Mrs. Graham, Will was once named Most likely to become a Disney Twink of our graduating class. He slept commando every night and made out with half the student body while drunk, even the gardener Mrs. Hopkins once. Quite the promiscuous man you got there.'_ And Molly, being Molly, would never let Will live it down.

"Oh Will if you wanted to go drinking with your college buddies you could have just told me. Just try not to do it so often," Molly gives Will an understanding smile.

And isn't that lovely. Will Graham's not only a thief but a twitchy two faced son of a bitch who can't work up the nerve to tell his fiancée that she deserves better.

With a swift kiss to Will's cheek, and a polite goodbye to Matthew, Molly makes her way inside. Knowing her well enough, it is obvious to Will that Molly's better instincts sensed Matthew's smug strangeness and deemed it time to get away from Matthew and his swaggering tendencies. No Disney Twink Will Graham stories for her. Will almost sings praises to a God he didn't believe in.

"Guess we should go fix my boat's motor, Will." Matthew grins as they trudge their way through the snow over to his Bentley.

"You couldn't have just called?" Will asks gruffly, shoving his hands into his pockets.

He's never much been one for a smoke but every interaction with Matthew makes him crave nicotine, perhaps a nod to Will's father's tendencies. It seemed to work wonders for him.

"How many nights would it take for Molly to start suspecting our nightly rendezvous are signs of an affair, do you think?" Matthew laughs, because of course he does. There is rarely a subject he doesn't deem even slightly amusing.

"Cut the crap Matthew, you have a new job for me don't you? I'm guessing it's a big one seeing as you came to tell me in person."

"I wouldn't say it's big, _per se_ , but my friend is willing to pay a lot of money for it. Thirty big ones in fact," -practiced hands light a cigarette- "She wants you to steal some documents pertaining her brother's information from his therapist...so hold off on the other stuff we usually do. We just need to document." Matthew takes a swift drag before letting some smoke out whilst Will watches enviously.

* * *

"So much trouble for some guy's mental diagnosis?" Will leans against the car's door. "I reckon either of us could meet him and give her the results ourselves." Will makes his best impression of an overzealous shrink, "Congratulations, your brother has varying degrees of psychopathy, and with far too much money on his hands to top it off."

Matthew shrugs, though doesn't disagree. "Thirty grand is thirty grand. She tells me the therapist is some high class bloke, hosts pretentious dinner parties with the elites and the like."

At Will's clear lack of interest, Matthew leans in, adding in a conspiring whisper with the likeness of a little girl telling her best friend which nose-picking boy she has a crush on, "I hear even your old man Jack Crawford attends his little show-off events."

This causes Will to raise a brow, though only marginally. As previously mentioned, he's long sworn off his time at the FBI and the events he experienced while in it, and doesn't have the capacity to care for it or his old boss much anymore. "What's the psychiatrist's name?"

"He goes by Hannibal" -Matthew squashes his cigarette under his shoe- "Hannibal Lecter."

—————————

* * *

The condo is two stories, pristine, and full of whites and muted grays, the epitome of the minimalistic life a city like L.A. or New York tricks it's dwellers into believing is ideal and trendy to hide the fact the city is overpriced and can really only house a roach and it's critter offspring. Only Matthew's condo itself isn't in L.A. or New York City, but Baltimore. There is very little sign of personal touches in the abode, in fact Will is sure Matthew didn't choose any of the furniture in it but rather left it all up to an interior designer.

Across from Will, entering the living room, a copy of Sam Bough's Incoming Storm(New Haven Harbour) hangs over a white brick fireplace. Will's unsure if Matthew acquired it through theft or if he bought it himself. Will quickly shakes his head, even if Matthew had paid for it with his money, 'his money' was more than likely also stolen.

A manilla folder drops down in front of Will on the island top, the slapping noise causing Will to swivel around on the tall chair to glance down at the file. "I'm guessing these are the floor plans?" Will says, thumbing the file open.

"No..." Matthew trails off. Will frowns.

"All you have on here are his credentials and address?" Will's tone sounds more accusatory than questioning.

"His credentials, address, and a nice photo candidate that could land him a job as a model for American Eagle," Matthew pauses. "On second thought he looks more fitting for the airs of Rolex, don't you think?"

"Matthew-" Will begins, migraine already forming. _Give me a cig, dad._

"Yes, what was I thinking? You're more of American Eagle model material. Has your wardrobe even seen a shirt that isn't plaid? I bet it cries every time you give your shirts a new flannel brother-"

"Matthew," Will snaps. "You work for Homeland Security and don't have a scope of an elitist's house?"

"Actually, I have a guise at Homeland Security, it works more for me, for us, and our little projects, than I do for it."

"This is a first. A rich man with no security systems set up? Not even 'Alexa'? Either his ego keeps the burglars away or he's an idiot." Will sighs. He'll pretty much be going in blindly.

Matthew frowns for a millisecond, Will almost doesn't believe it possible but his swift eyes caught the barest of creases on the black haired man's brow line. "Hannibal Lecter appears to be very secretive. There are few to no records of his life before the U.S. As if he was born an adult here in Baltimore. I tried to reach the realtor of the house he lives in and the one for his office to get the plans of the buildings but there were no replies. All I could find is in that file; his surgical skills, and psychiatric ones along with their entailed doctorates. But not much else."

Hearing this rubs Will the wrong way. In the past year Will has been engaging with Matthew on their midnight theft escapades, he knew the smirking man to be intricately diligent and successful in uncovering people's information, like a hawk observing scampering mice. Not once Will saw Matthew so utterly, for lack of better word, stumped. As if to confirm his suspicions, the pondering clear in Matthew's eyes makes Will realize Matthew is contemplating telling Will something else.

 _He's hiding something,_ Will's eyes narrow. _Focus. Review the evidence_. A client offers a large amount of money to retrieve psychiatric evaluations and notes about her brother. Someone with this amount of money and willingness to pay it indicates she requires this information to use most likely against her brother to gain some advantage over him. Knowing rich people, Will wagers it's to do with inheritance money the client's parent dangles over them or some sort of family feud. Asking information about the client past their name and age will be futile, Matthew is always a middle man for these type of exchanges and always loyal to whomever holds the bigger dollar sign. So it's time for a change of tactics.

Will moves slightly forward, his hands lightly clasping each other in front of him on the table, the picture of intrigue and eagerness. Tilting his head, Will casually asks, "Wouldn't it make things more feasible for your client to pose as a patient and enter his office to investigate there first? It'd give us a vague but helpful idea of what's inside."

Matthew's gaze flickers from the decorous curls that have shifted to hover nearby Will's eyes, to said seafoam eyes. "Sending her in would alert him of her intentions to get dirt on her brother. Dr. Lecter is rather sharp."

 _Ah, so the good doctor also knows the client personally_. Will looks down at the table before swiftly glancing up at Matthew from underneath his eyelashes. He hates the eye contact but he knows Matthew will appreciate it. "I could always just go in myself. Pose as a new patient, you and I know my brain is irresistible to scrutiny by psychiatrists."

Matthew stretches back and scoffs, though there is laughter in his eyes, "How rather presumptuous of you Will. You're not incorrect in thinking Dr. Lecter might be intrigued by your...deductive skills and other inner workings of your mind. However, for this case, it is too high risk seeing as you may get caught breaking in to his office, or home, should the required files not be in the former. His recognizing you could prove catastrophic to our little hobby."

Matthew shifts back forward, green eyes unwavering, and Will's temporary gall to appear more inciting shatters. He draws back and gazes at the frames of his glasses he's just put on. They always come in handy "Besides," Matthew speaks almost softly, almost caringly, "-you and I both know you hate being prodded at like specimen. Unless that's changed?"

Will shrugs in a manner he hopes comes off as uncaring. "I never mistook you for someone who cared about what happened to his associates."

Matthew's eyes harden, and Will is sure he is about to tell him just what it is about Hannibal Lecter that has Matthew so wary before said man shifts to stand up. "We'll search the obvious, being his office, first. If the documents on Mason Verger aren't there we proceed to his house."

 _Verger._ That name sounds familiar, but before Will can pinpoint where he's heard it before, Matthew is politely but obviously dismissing him from his condo. Clutching the manilla folder at his side, Will makes his way to the bus stop. Normally Matthew offers him a ride back but it seems Will pushed a little too far today. Will almost scoffs before rolling his eyes.

He looks down at the file in his left hand as he walks, thinking about the brief glimpse he caught of Hannibal Lecter. His long aristocratic features are sharp and angular, with piercing maroon eyes, and a wide lipped smile that one might find on someone who's withholding a joke only he is privy to.

Will winds up hailing a cab. As he rests his cheek on the palm of his hand, Will tries to put a profile to the name, _Just who are you Hannibal Lecter?_ whilst staring out the window.


	2. I Found You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayo, thanks to everyone who reviewed and gave kudos to the last chapter! I changed the tense of the writing from past to present, because I’m an idiot and thought I could write in past tense. Anyway hope this doesn’t cause too much disruption. Once again please do not repost my art. Thanks for reading!

> _“With clubs and staves they seek me, as a thief,_
> 
> _who am the way of truth, the truth relief;_
> 
> _Most true to those, who are my greatest grief:_
> 
> _Was ever grief like mine?”_
> 
> _-George Herbert_

  
Days sludge by in a blur of unhappy boredom. Will spent his time fishing or walking his dogs. Every now and then he met up with Matthew to see if he had gathered any new information on Dr. Lecter, but to no avail. It seems the doctor is as closed as a clam. A walking paradox of privacy and an open book, seeing as the esteemed man constantly let people into his home and made a point to be in social circles, but never let anyone enter the shroud of mystery still lingering over whatever past the intelligent man had lived. It stays clandestine to the casual onlooker.

On one cloudy afternoon Will's calm silence is disrupted by the shrilling sound of his cellphone ringing. "Did you find anything new?" Will says in lieu of greeting.

"Not even a 'hello, how are you?'. How very rude of you Will Graham," Matthew jibes, but his tone is distracted. He gives a dramatic pause, realizes Will isn't going to cave, and adds instead, "I tried following him for a week but he slipped away multiple times. I don't know how he does it."

Will gives a resigned sigh.

"However, Margot Verger tells me he'll be away this Sunday for a one-on-one session with her brother at their mansion. We got lucky this time, Will." Will hears the sound of Matthew ruffling some papers. "We have to make good use of our chance, as this could very well be the only one we get for a while."

Will nods, forgetting Matthew can’t see him.

He rubs the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Alright, I'll see you then."

"..."

Once again, the sensation that Matthew is withholding information from him made an appearance, thus filling Will with apprehension. _Just what aren't you saying?_

"Was there something else?"

"No. See you Sunday, Will."

* * *

Instead of searching the office first like they originally planned, they decide to breech Hannibal Lecter's home seeing as it doesn't have security guards like the building his office is in did. Matthew stays in the car. _Lucky bastard._

The house in question is huge, its dark windows indicative of its owner's absence. It stands an intimidating three stories tall, somehow both haunting and inviting. The affluent neighborhood it is located in unsettles Will, as these places usually do. It reminds Will that regardless of financial status, misfortunes befall everyone. Only this time, Dr. Lecter is not going to be robbed by Will Graham. At least not likely. Will's long since suspected he wouldn't be finding Mason Verger's files in here anywhere but they have to be completely sure. Searching this house should be an easy job, the harder part will come when they go to Lecter's office.

The front door is locked, as expected, but there's yet to be one Will can't pry open. With a small click, Will enters the vacant abode.

Unsurprisingly, the home is filled to the brim with regal decorum one might expect from someone of Lecter's status. Ordinarily, this would pull a scoff from Will, only this time said man is busy trying to pin-point what he is missing from the bigger picture. A small throbbing has begun at the back of his head, an instinctive warning that tells Will something is wrong. He rarely subjects himself into the unknown. Too many unforeseen variables can leave Will feeling like an exposed wound. 

Will wishes he had brought the pocket-watch he'd stolen from the last house for him to ground himself on. He instead lets a mental tick-tock bound inside his head for reassurance. Despite this, the solitary man's home looms over Will in what feels like a pocket in space, timeless and frozen like a painting capturing a lavish scenery.

The living room is huge but overall not worthy of searching through. It's easy to imagine the doctor entertaining guests there, aristocratic facial features charming the onlookers, surrounding him like insects drawn to flames.

Will makes his way through a small hallway and enters the kitchen. Bernadino Genga's illustration of Boy with Thorn is hung by the door, welcoming Will in a distracted manner. He severely doubts Lecter hid documents amongst his culinary tools and fridge, but something nagging in his brain tells Will he's entered a land mine. Will realizes what it is, when he spots in his periphery, a trap door that leads to what is probably a wine cellar. Before he can reach down to open the hatch to enter it, a small whistling noise catches his attention.

Immediately Will rises to his full height, snapping his head from side to side. Upon finding nothing in his immediate vicinity, he drifts silently through the dining room and goes back through the hallway he'd originally come from until he reaches a stair case. Once on the second floor Will immediately finds the culprit of the noise, a small window at the end of the hall. It is cracked halfway open, a small breeze flies into the house, whispering into the curtains as they give a light wave.

In the room closest to the staircase there is what Will can only describe as a lounge-library hybrid of some sort. The western wall is covered in bookshelves. There Will begins his light search through the multicolored spines. Books ranging from several philosophical topics, to art, and psychiatry make sense for Dr. Lecter to own, but Will is impressed by the amount of languages they are in.

A small table in between two bookshelves calls Will's attention. On top is an open notepad with a small note written in a sophisticated cursive; _Add more to The Collection._

 _Add more to what?_ Will frowns. There are collections of books, art, and lavish items aplenty throughout the house. Lecter most likely means his art collection, but Will feels there is one single unseen collection that is worthy of being addressed with ' _The_ '. Could it be what Will is looking for? But why would a psychiatrist put emphasis on adding more patient files in such a grand way and on a simple note reminder?

The drawer below the tabletop is locked, Will picks at it until he hears the telling noise that it has been unlocked. Without further ado, Will pops the table's drawer open and begins going through what is an accordion shaped array of small files, his nimble gloved hands flowing through the tabs like a pianists' does through playing keys. Most of them seem to be filled with random fancy jargon, however at the end, under a cream colored tab filed as "Primavera", is a single silver key attached to a string. Inscribed on the silver are the numbers "001".

Foreboding fills the pit of Will's stomach, but he still can't quite grasp what is making him so uneasy. The image of Matthew's strange thoughtful expression flits across the screen of Will's brain.

So far nothing indicates Hannibal Lecter to be anything but whom he presents himself as. An upper class, sophisticated man who is a successful psychiatrist. Will tries to remind himself that he's not here to profile the odd doctor but to find Mason Verger's files. Futile to his efforts, a memory pops into his mind unprompted.

_"I have to get home to my partner."_

_Will gives a distracted nod to Alana, thus dismissing her._

_"Goodbye, Will. I'm sorry things didn't workout better for you."_

_Her sad blue eyes make Will want to slam his head against the wall. There is nothing in the world that he abhors more than receiving pity._

_Alana pulls a small white card from her purse. "If you ever need anything from me, you can reach me here."_

_The words 'Verger Estate' are printed in small dark ink above the official address. Within a week Will tosses the card in the garbage._

Will's eyes widen a fraction. It had to be a coincidence. Life would never be so simple so as to imply something impudent like the concept of fate.

As Will hastily continues his search into the next room, a phrase replays through his head, one he often heard back when he had done training as a cop many years ago. A phrase he himself had been sure to implement on his students through his teachings. _'Never fail to remember that there is no such thing as coincidences. What is a coincidence to others, can be crucial evidence to us.'_

After Will has searched through the rest of the rooms, and found as he'd expected, nothing, Will makes his way to the end of the hall. A small spiral staircase stands over Will. He climbs it and reaches a simple brown wooden door labeled '001'. The beginning point. Or perhaps an end.

"Have you found anything yet?" Matthew's static-like voice says from Will's ear piece.

Will tries not to jump at Matthew's sudden intrusion to the suspended silence. He almost forgot the other man has been connected to him via the small device the entire time, patiently waiting. Will looks down at his hand, slightly surprised to find his hand still tightly clutching the silver key. He slots it into the lock and gives a clock-wise twist of the knob.

"I found a key to the attic door-" Will says as he swings the door open.

He freezes at the sight before him. His world's view skews and Will is no longer in an hierarchic house, but instead floundering in unforgiving ocean waves. He gasps and thrashes around, waving his arms and legs like a sail lost at sea. The rising tide inexorably takes him under its wing, as if shielding him, but ultimately only consuming him. The surface of the water becomes a faraway glimmer as Will feels the cold water's hands choking the last remnants of air out of him. The rising tension reaches it's climax. Like a blink, everything clicks into place, Matthew's odd behavior, Hannibal Lecter's eerie nature, and the queasy unease Will has been feeling since he stepped into this godforsaken place.

From the ceiling of the dark room, to the floor, the walls are covered in photographs of Will.

But they're not just photos, as Will understands immediately, they are ephemeral snippets of himself and his life. Someone is trying to know him. To _see_ him.

Transient images of him from his time at the FBI, in public articles made by Freddie Lounds, as a professor in Quantico, at crime scenes, at FBI sponsored events, in cherry wood park benches, sitting in lonesome cafes, among the grass fields of parks, by quivering lakes, casting a line with bait attached to the hook, walking his dogs by asphalt roads, Will conversing with Alana, Will conversing with Jack. Even one of him tolerating Price and Zeller's presence. Throughout the collage Will finds a startling amount of written notes full of random comments and factoids. His weight, his height, how he prefers his coffee, where he shops for clothes. As if that's not enough, Will looks to the right wall to find drawings and paintings of himself. Detailed portraiture studies, sketches, and recreations of Master paintings only with Will as the subject instead of the original muses. The effort and care put into every stroke of pencil and paint is not lost to Will.

His mental clock reaches a painful throbbing ticking. **_Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tic-_**

 _Oh God._ With a start Will realizes it's his heartbeat drumming away in rapid succession. _Oh God, I'm so fucked._ Bile rises to the top of his throat. Will stumbles backwards and swallows it back down. His breathing reduces to ragged sharp inhales of air until he is gasping so painfully Will's sure not even a gallon of water could help ease his aching throat. _I can't panic now,_ Will protests meekly as he drops down on his knees.

All this time, wasted trying to avoid drawing attention to himself, wasted trying to live a peaceful insignificant life. Will now finds it stupidly clear that these type of bastards will always follow him, find him, exploit him no matter where he goes or what he does.

Loud huffing noises draw Will from his dooming racing thoughts. With his hairs on end and nerves frazzled, he looks up to find a massive dark stag standing in front of him. Its soul-less holes where eyes should be, stab into him like a verdict, accusing. Will squeezes his eyes shut painfully, as he tries to take a hold of his breathing, of his body, of his mind. He knows it's not real, but when knowing and seeing don't match anyone is bound to enter a mental hell hole. Anyone is fated to drown.

"Will! Will, you need to get out of there!" Matthew's voice snaps Will back to the reality of the situation. "Hannibal Lecter has come back, he's about to enter the house."

Will can panic later, right now he needs to get as far away from this wretched place as fast as possible. He struggles to his feet and makes his way silently as he can down the staircase. As he reaches the window at the end of the hall he curses himself upon noticing that the cursed silver key is still in his _fucking hand_.

The sound of a door closing in the first floor makes Will's brain shut down. A moment's second of hesitation will be fatal, so Will makes up his mind in a split second to slide into the room he got the key from, drop it off in its drawer, then makes his way out the window in the same room.

* * *

They don't speak on their drive to Wolf Trap. The tension in the air could be rolled into a rope, stretched across two buildings and walked across. In the end Will breaks the silence with a muttered, "Did you know?"

"Know what?" Matthew's hands grip the steering wheel tightly.

"That he was stalking me," Will snaps. He'd told Matthew the horrors he found at Lecter's attic when he first entered the car, and miraculously left Matthew Brown speechless. Until now.

"I knew he'd recently fired a photographer," Matthew's jaw clenches. "And I knew the photographer was the shady type most women who suspect their husbands of cheating hire. Imagine that? Being paid to take photos of unsuspecting people, a rather macabre fascination, don't you think?"

Will stays silent, knowing Matthew is going to continue soon.

"I thought it was odd he'd hired someone like that in the first place but I figured he just had some girlfriend he thought was getting ravished by another man. It was none of my business what he did, it had nothing to do with the job." Matthew makes a sharp turn with the steering wheel. "Look, I don't quite understand why he's...obsessed with you. You said he had photographs of things that happened even from a year ago, right? He's been doing this for a while now."

Hearing what he's suspected ~~known~~ for the past hour confirmed out loud makes Will slump back in his chair. _What a fucking shit-hole I've gotten myself into_.

“Why did he come home early?”

Matthew shrugs but Will can tell he’s speculating on it too. Will thinks back to the sight of the attic and stiffens.

"There were no pictures of me with Molly," Will frowns. "Or Walter for that matter."

For the first time since Will got in the car, Matthew turns his head to look at Will directly. His expression blank. "You're the ex profiler in here, Will. What do you think it means?"

Will's teeth grind against each other as he swallows the lump in his throat. "He told the photographer not to include them...because he doesn't see them as reoccurring people in my life. Or rather, he's" -Will scrunches his face- "dismissing them. They're not necessary to me."

"Was that last bit what he believes or what you believe?"

Will doesn't dignify that question with an answer.

He'd like to say he's shocked at Matthew's audacity but knows innately that with every interpretation Will does of people through his empathy, a part of Will always seeks out ugly truths. A strong distinction between Will and his empathetic self is that Will knows mercy but his other side only knows every grotesque fact, no matter how minuscule or buried, that no one else wants to prod at.

* * *

Two weeks fly by and Will does not hear a word from Matthew. He doesn't know if the tall man is ignoring Will or if he simply felt Will was not cut for the job due to his obvious strange predicament with Hannibal Lecter. Either way, finding Mason Verger's file is the furthest thing from Will's mind at the moment.

Molly as of late has glanced at Will with varying stabbing expressions of concern.

"Will, it's not that I don't appreciate your company, but you're suffocating me."

Dull blue-green eyes drag upwards from their focus on the floor to stare at the blonde woman.

"You've closed all the curtains, you never go out, you never let me out of your sight," Molly sits across from Will on the couch. "Your best friend is now a bottle of Jack Daniel's. You know I love you, Will, but I'd like to know what's going on."

_An explanation is the least you could do, we're supposed to get married soon._

Molly doesn't voice it but her micro expressions scream it. A surge of indignation rises in Will's chest. He quickly tries to stamp the feeling down.

Because Molly is right, isn't that what fiances did? Exchange love-struck gazes and share their innermost secrets and thoughts? Will isn't feeling inclined to do any of these things, much to his own disappointment.

Will rubs his fingers on his eyelids, taking a deep breath, when he looks up he is no longer in the living room with Molly, but in his bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror. His distended seafoam eyes rake in his disheveled appearance. He's wearing different clothes. _Shit._

It has been months since he lost memories and track of time. Gripping the edge of the sink, Will begins counting down, taking breaths in between seconds.

_10...9...8...7...6_

His eyes drift to his reflection again, only to his horror, Will sees the mirage of a dark figure standing in the hallway behind him.

Terror takes a hold of his heart and squeezes it painfully. Will shakily turns around to properly face the hallway, but as his eyes search the plasma of shadows, no discernible being stands there.


	3. Despairing for You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will struggles to accept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update I got writers block. I have so many things planned for this fic but am struggling to figure out how to get there. Consider this chapter a transition of sorts into what will be the fun parts.

> _“Much Madness is divinest Sense-_
> 
> _To a discerning Eye_
> 
> _Much Sense- the starkest Madness_
> 
> _’Tis the Majority_
> 
> _In this, as all, prevail_
> 
> _Assent - and you are sane_
> 
> _Demur - you’re straightaway dangerous_
> 
> _And handled with a Chain._
> 
> _by Emily Dickison_

  


  
Trepidation clothes Will like an age-old suit he can't quite get rid of. His soft padded steps make their way down the hall. Alert blue eyes scew around, taking in the several shadows gazing at Will from every direction. There are no visible signs of a menacing intruder, though this does nothing to ease Will's tension.

He takes a quick moment to catalog where every potential defense weapon lies for him to pull on whomever may be in the shadows. _If_ there is someone. Unsure, and wired, Will almost sighs before hearing the sound of something drop and hit the ground from a room. On autopilot, Will calmly grabs a bat from the hallway closet(one he'd bought for Walter's birthday three months previous), and heads to the room at the end of the hall.

"What are you doing?"

Will swings around to gape at Molly, promptly letting the bat slump down to his side.

"I thought someone was in the house," Will feels stupid.

Molly gives Will an apprehensive stare, the same type one gives a man who talks to empty air and insists he has friends standing there. "Will," Molly starts before slightly shaking her head.

She brushes past him and heads to their room, leaving Will with a question poised on his lips. _Will, what?_

_Will why are you abnormal? Why are you constantly afraid? Why do you sometimes see things that aren't there? What are you haunted by? Why won't you tell me? Why can't you be a normal partner-_

Will droops his eyes down. Disconsolate, but clear headed, Will knows those questions to ring true through Molly's head. Not for the first time, Will curses his nature for secluding him for itself. To be used as a tool but never to be loved.

* * *

Following the retched days after Will's discovery at the macabre doctor's home, Will finds himself gripping the fastenings of his sanity. As his mind ebbs away like a weed's thistledown in the wind, Will discovers himself more often than not diligently clasping and checking the stolen antiquated gold pocket-watch.

Cool, thrashing liquid fills Will's mind to the brink, threatening to spill over with the barest tilt of his head. Amidst the heavy swells of aquamarine claws waving, attempting to scratch the sky, Will begins to float to the surface, oar-less, and dead to the world. Sea monsters and ocean water attempt to pry into his lips, ears, and nose, to possess him and claim him.

The image shifts to a white sky and crisp morning air. Will finds himself gazing down at a wide plate-shaped eye.

_"The trout is dead Will, don't waste time mourning it."_

Will tilts his head up to stare at the tall looming figure of his father. His father's brown eyes are fixed like dark little buttons on to his face, blank and unmoving with worried creases surrounding them. _"You feel the same way about mommy. Or want to. But she's not dead. You lied about that”_ -Will glances back down at the creature- _"Maybe the fish is also still alive."_

_"Whether she's alive or dead doesn't change the fact that she's gone," his father's mouth sets in a firm line._

_"No,"_ Will agrees, as his small hands toss the still thing back in the water. _"It doesn't."_

__

* * *

Inspite of the situation Will tries to avoid thinking of the doctor, of his transgression, of his _name_. As if speaking the syllables might summon the man himself to pull Will into whatever ravishing plan he holds for him. Even thinking his name inspires an unrealistic surge of fear that Will may sink into the ground and find himself at the bottom of a pit, gazing up at that sharp featured face, helpless, and stuck as the perpetrator throws dirt into Will's grave hole and buries him alive.

Will's brain begins to race with a static consisting of multiple thoughts happening all at once, entwining, meeting, destroying one another. He finds the not so tasty thoughts always wind up victorious, gorging on his fleeting hopes that maybe the doctor may lose interest in Will and leave him alone. Anger comes and goes like kin visiting Will whenever it seems fit, uninvited but more welcome than it's more obtrusive partner, fear.

Fear catapults from section to section, infecting, screaming, and making Will lose time throughout the days. Transient images of ferns and thickets with obscured branches, running through leaves and bushes in the pale of night, Molly's disappointed face, the smell of salt in the air, a silver hook piercing the tips of his finger, red drops falling on dirt, water, _water_ , _WATER_ , the liquid feels cold, Walter's confused expression, subaqueous intrusive thoughts rising to the surface, gasping, and thrashing, all of it flashing in hot burns across Will's eyes. He'll take a hold of his spent hours into his palm and then shortly after lose the next few somewhere down a drain, yellowish throw-up flushing down the toilet as Will curses the wasted alcohol.

Molly makes efforts to get him to see civilization; roaring cars, houses with pale painting peeling at the edges, big obscure houses, small boxes of homes, several green pastures, affluent decorous people strolling babies in carriages, happy, smiling families, teenagers loitering in street corners, a child no older than four crying over spilled ice cream on cracked sidewalk, all of this irrelevant yet still effective in swelling Will's chest with longing for a normalcy he'll never achieve.

The car ride comes to a halt at a store parking lot. The smell of junk food from aisle seven and anesthetics assaults Will's senses as he blinks trying to take in his surroundings. _A CVC_ , he guesses. He spots Molly conversing with a pharmacist up ahead, hands waving around in exaggerated motions. For a moment Will thinks she is flirting with him. But upon seeing the grim line on the man's face he realizes neither one of them is happy with the conversation transpiring. He tries to blink away his fog but to no avail, everything is muffled and static like a bad photograph.

 _Photographs_. Will clicks his tongue. He supposes this is the bane of the whole situation, the backbone of a skeleton hidden in the closet of his mind. Photos, so many photos, of himself in various situations. Of himself marginally living his life, if one could call it that, all photos remaining invasive nonetheless. Will shakes his head and begins to wander around the aisles, until he finds a section where disposable cameras are located.

Why take any in the first place? They only serve to bring up memories that no longer exist. Times change and all you're left feeling is the same old tang of bitterness that comes with remembering things that have no use to your new life. Photos can be very dangerous things, every single pixel, every color, every smile, every frown it captures is nothing but a poor mimicry of a moment. They are flat, lifeless, vile, impudent intruders!

"Are you going to pay for that?"

Will snaps his head up to find a store worker gazing at him with mild irritation. _Why is he doing this? Is he some sort of hobo? God I better get a raise, I'm sick and tired of dealing with these addicts-_ Will shakes himself out of her head. Her brown eyes bleed with annoyance and longing to be anywhere but there, besides Will, besides the broken camera on the linoleum floor.

"Will, what are you doing?" a tired voice speaks behind Will.

He swerves around and opens his mouth but finds no clear answer offering itself to his lips.

"i'm sorry, my boyfriend isn't feeling very well, I'll pay for it," Molly reaches into her purse to pull out her card.

Will offers a meek breathy sorry before scratching the side of his nose and looking away.

* * *

The bed lightly creaks as Will shifts himself into Molly. Her legs move around, attempting to find a better position. Will knows neither of them are likely to find one. Eventually, Molly starts to breathe out small sighs of pleasure, to Will's distracted small relief. Her legs buckle around his waist, pushing him deeper into her. Will continues to avoid looking in her eyes, opting to let them roam around the room aimlessly instead, unwilling to see the yearn for more dedication in Molly's eyes.

He dreadfully wishes he could give himself emotionally during acts like this with her, ultimately Will is unable to do nothing but the bare physical minimum. Will fervently hopes that marrying Molly will rise a passion in his chest that is otherwise not there. With this in mind he attempts to glance down at her, but his attention is instead drawn upward at a dark hint of movement in his periphery. His brain promptly shuts down at the sight festering in the corner of the room.

What Will's been avoiding for weeks, the tendrils of darkness that slithered inside him, clawing, demanding attention, are now manifested before him in the manufactured visual form of his terror made by the shadows of his mind. It stands tall and dark, a cruel mimic of the shape of a man, gaunt eyes, hollow cheeks, angular face, protruding ribs, with dark bone-like antlers sprouting from the top of its head. Will startles away from Molly and into the wall behind him.

As Molly sleeps later that same night, Will lies awake with his eyes wide open, gazing up at the unwavering presence staring down at him. Should he close his eyes it will surely devour him.

* * *

The ex-profiler peeks through a crack in his window curtains, a single blue eye runs through the grey view of the outside, akin to an animal checking for predators. Upon finding nothing suspicious, a soft sigh of relief escapes his dry, chapped lips.

He leans back and turns his attention to the sleeping form underneath the covers of his bed. Molly has only been getting more impatient with him as of late. Will can't blame her.

_5:15 am_

Will frowns.

With a gentle kiss to Molly's forehead, Will makes his way down the stairs, only to freeze upon finding a huge black duffel bag sitting on the living room table. He warily opens it to find, as he suspected, copious amounts of cash stacked inside. _Fuck._

Since the beginning of his recent losses of time Will worried he might steal from new houses and forget. Without much preamble he pulls out his phone and dials Matthew. Every sound of the ring echoing back at him only serves to increase his nerves. Will begins to chew on the nail of his thumb, pacing back and forth in the living room aisle. He huffs in exasperation and dials Matthew again, only this time, instead of pacing, he grabs the duffel bag and makes his way up the stairs and then into the attic shoving it into a corner.

"Will, it's five in the morning," Will hears Matthew slur on the other end.

"When did we last steal?" Will picks at the skin at the corners of his fingers.

"Three nights ago? Why?" Matthew sounds more awake now. "Will is something wrong?"

Will slumps down on himself against the wall. _I can't keep doing this._

"If you don't want to steal anymore that's fine Will," Matthew sounds at surface level uncaring, but Will can detect a hint of something sharp in his tone.

"No, no, I'm fine," Will rubs the bridge of his nose. "Just tired."

"..."

"What?" Will nearly snaps.

"Do you want to give finding Mason Verger's files another chance?"

Will hesitates. Both options he conjures up are terrifying. He can decline and live the rest of his life living in fear, losing time, paranoid of being under constant vigilance. Or he can do this, face the despicable places used by a man obsessed with him. And then... _and then what?_ It hits Will at this moment that he never thought to wonder why it is the mysterious man is so hyper-fixated on him. The name Will Graham is infamous amongst the field of psychiatry but Will would never have imagined it might gain him any creeps, or at least, at the level they would stalk him so thoroughly.

He can't help but feel violated, but despite this, an undercurrent of an emotion Will has no name for runs through him, making him shiver.

"I'll do it," Will breathes through his nose. "But first, we should properly prepare this time."

Will can clearly imagine Matthew's small little smirk as he says, "I knew you'd come around. If it makes you feel better, remember Dr. Lecter called off the photographer. I'm sure he realized creeps don't often have a chance with the objects of their attention."

Will agrees with him verbally but deep down knows it isn't true. People like Hannibal Lecter were nothing if not persistent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was a real struggle to avoid using Hannibal’s name until the end, god damn it Will.


	4. I Hope You Like This

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update y’all, this chapter was hard to do not just because of the writing but because of the art 😭. Hope y’all like it enough to comment, you guys are my only motivation this fine December.

  
Frivolous people mingle throughout the rooms, every next person more decorous and insipid than the last. Amicable chatter and laughter fills the air, but their eyes give away their judgmental scrutiny. The whimsical phrases escaping deceiving too-wide smiles do little to ease the need every guest has to impress. No one in attendance escapes the flourish of another, just as no one in attendance withholds the smallest of brags within their lives. A sweet but ambient coloratura flumes the air, the springing notes of the violin inebriates the people almost as much as the chutes of wine going around on silver platters. The host of the scene is no different.

By far he stands out the most. Cold maroon calculating eyes observe the scene, raking in every miniscule detail, from the falsest of sincerities to the single fiber of lint on one of the hired waiters handing out delicacies of heart taretare and beef roulade.

Nothing here catches his particular interest, but he is unable to shut off his natural watcher tendencies.

"Hannibal, over here," a lithe beautiful woman waves him over from her spot by the musicians.

There's a small smudge of mascara on her right eye, and her lip stick is partially faded.

"How lovely it is to see you Alana," Hannibal gives her hand a courteous kiss. "I presume Jack has been keeping you busy."

"I suspect I'll sooner be attending my baby's middle school graduation than I will be getting a vacation," Alana jibes. "How are you doing?"

"The same as always dearest Alana," Hannibal shifts his direct focus from her to take in the wonderful melody produced from the instruments. "Attempting to partake in all of live's greatest joys. How is Margot?"

"She's around here somewhere," Alana takes a cursory glance around the room. "She's been taking things easy, after, well, you know what."

"Yes, I imagined she would," Hannibal signals a waiter over, swift hand grabbing drinks for the both of them.

"The River Stizidae has been riling Jack up a wall I imagine, he's not in attendance today."

"No, no he isn't," Alana takes a sip before curiously glancing back at Hannibal. "It's been a while since you've thrown a party, is there any particular reason for one now?"

"I often find one doesn't require a reason to get their appetite back," Hannibal's lips give the barest of twitches. "Nourishment can be found in entertaining others. A preamble for celebration, while nice, does not stop me from doing it for the simple pleasure of it."

"I suppose we all have our hobbies," Alana's maroon lips touch the glass.

"That we do."

* * *

The cynical gaze on Will's face does not go unnoticed by the other occupant in the room.

"When did the hallucinations start?"

The clock hung up on the tall white wall strikes 4:30.

Jars of cottons balls, swabs, Band-Aids, and a box of gloves are on the counter top. To his right a poster had **_How to Recognize Symptoms of Cancer_** written in bold blue letters. Disinfectant tools peek out of a grey drawer, taunting Will, as if telling him, _What a filthy person you are._

"Hallucinations?" Will brings his focus to the woman's name tag.

'Cynthia Roberts' inscribed in small print and a rather unflattering picture bust of said woman stare back at him from their place strung on a lavender lanyard.

_She graduated with high honors._

"You wrote down that you'd been experiencing hallucinations. As well as sleep walking" -the sound of rustling papers- "Nausea and migraines?"

_Did I?_

The doctor seems to notice his confusion. "You were previously diagnosed with encephalitis, correct?"

"Yes. Little more than a year ago."

"How long has it been since your last hallucination around that time?"

"Nine months."

"When did they start up again?"

"I'm not sure," Will frowns. "A month ago?"

"We can run another scan. Though I suspect the results won't show anything physically wrong with you this time."

Will stares at his muted blue reflection on the tiled floor. Has everything always been damper monochrome hues of grey and blue?

"I beg your pardon?"

Will realizes he's spoken out loud. He shuffles his hands and feet around a bit. The doctor continues to drone on about taking better care of himself and finding what may be triggering his hallucinations. Will eventually stops listening, says a polite farewell with half hearted nods to her suggestions before taking his leave.

* * *

"What did the doctor say?"

"Not much, that my migraines were probably caused by stress."

"Is that all this is, Will? Migraines?"

"What more do you want me to say?"

Molly wipes her hands with a yellow kitchen rag. She breathes through her nostrils, in a gesture Will recognizes as her trying to calm herself.

"Wally caught you sleepwalking two nights ago," her voice staggers into a whispering tone. "He says you seemed lost. This isn't the first time this has happened. We lose you from time to time. He saw you walking into the lake two weeks ago. Don't tell me this is caused by a headache, Will, you've never been the dishonest type."

Will doesn't respond to that.

"You no longer work for the FBI. I don't even know what you do nowadays. You disappear and then I pretend you're out there fixing people's boat motors but that isn't true, is it?"

"I want what's best for us, for Walter," Will sighs. "I do, trust me. But I need breaks away from you every now and then. From everyone."

"So that's how it is? You can't stand being around us?" Molly's eyes begin to water, Will gazes away.

"It has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with social interaction," Will makes a waving gesture. "With being closed up in the house."

"What are you on about Will? You have been closed up for the past weeks! Only now you avoid us where it is most obvious," Molly shakes her head. "Why won't you speak to me? I understand if you need time to yourself, but lately you've been shifty, paranoid, what are you afraid of Will?"

Will snaps his gaze back to her face, studying her expression to figure out what she wants to hear.

"Don't do that," Molly turns away, facing the kitchen wall. "I want you to stop avoiding the subject."

Will looks out the window. White flecks of snow flitter in the air, dancing and performing their pale arabesque until they tragically swoop down on the soil outside. All the other windows in the house were sealed shut except for this one. He'd forgotten all about it.

* * *

As days go by Will finds more items around the house that he doesn't remember buying. He has the urge to tell Matthew to stop bringing him along to their theft nights as Will clearly always forgets to hide the things in the attic. Molly has begun to notice.

"I didn't know you liked this sort of thing, was it your father's?" she raises the metal up to the light, admiring the mahogany handle of the shaving blade.

Will gently takes it away from her hands, holding it up to his face he looks at his reflection in the silver metal.

* * *

The box is new and a deep wine color. The shoes inside are made of carefully crafted Italian leather, toes are narrow and squared, the heels flat and with a nice grip. Will places them back inside their spot in its box and shoves them deep into his closet.

"Oh Will, this is beautiful!"

Will looks up.

The head of the shoehorn is intricately embossed with a spiraling design in the silver. Will inwardly curses. Molly seems to notice his displeasure and she back pedals immediately. "Oh was it for me? Sorry I didn't mean to find it I just saw the box placed by the desk lamp and I thought-"

"Don't worry about it Molly," Will pulls at the corners of his lips into what he hopes is a smile. "I hope you like it."

* * *

The incoming yellow lines seemingly disappear under the hood of the car. It's night time. Will glances owlishly around before noting Matthew is seated at the steering wheel.

"What time is it?"

Matthew checks his phone, the bright light illuminating his sharp features. "Around 1 am. Why?" Matthew grins, "Eager to get home and make love to your wife?"

Will brings his attention back to the road. "She's not my wife yet."

A pair of unwavering black beady eyes gaze at him straight on, unafraid.

**"Stop!"**

Matthew slams on the brakes bringing the car to a screeching halt. He seems a bit startled for a moment before taking a look around.

The stag stays put, with the same unflinching expression etched on its face, as if vindictive of Will.

Will waves his hand at it, "Shoo! Go away!"

The stag eventually turns and walks away into the abyss of trees.

He can feel Matthew staring at him from his spot beside him. Will rubs his nose a bit embarrassedly, "Sorry, about that."

"It's fine," Matthew says in a suspiciously flat tone.

"I couldn't let you just run it over," Will's voice takes on a slight defensive lilt, not understanding Matthew's response.

"There was nothing there for me to run over, Will."

The familiar cold dread sinks to the pit of Will's stomach.

* * *

"Thanks for feeding the dogs. I didn't get the chance to earlier," Will says as he takes off his coat.

Molly gives him a confused stare from her spot at the couch. "I didn't feed them, you did."

"Oh, right."

Winston walks up to him and licks the palm of his hand. His wet nose nudges him, demanding a pat. Will's heart softens as he bends down and begins ruffling Winston's brown mane. The furry friend begins eagerly licking Will's face. The smell of Winston's lunch reaches Will's nostrils, making him scrunch up his nose. "Easy boy, I'm not going anywhere."

* * *

The night they break into Hannibal Lecter's office is a cold one. The snow this time around plummets to the ground with a temper rivalling Boreas' and his winds. Will makes his way in through the window, after Matthew's signal that he'd put down the security alarms, and lands with a soft _plop_ into the office.

Will's never seen an office so vast with books. Everything from the spacious floors, to the lack of obstacles, the coordinated scheme, appears to be designed with the intent of giving Hannibal Lecter an upper hand in subduing the patient. Will frowns at the observation. _Why would Hannibal Lecter need control over the patient?_

He shakes his head, Will is more than used to automatically psychoanalyzing people, doesn't mean he can't try to stop himself from doing it to someone whom he's supposed to be robbing.

In dissonance with his wish to avoid dissecting the innerworkings of Hannibal's eery cosmos he manages to seep into all the spaces he's in, the more Will looks through the colorful arrayed seas of book spines, the more Will feels like prey stumbling into a predator's den.

"What is it you're looking for, I can't help but wonder," a voice with a low timber says.

The hairs at the back of Will's neck raise at once, he swivels around and tries to look into the dark recesses of the room. On one of the seats in the middle of the room sits a poised figure obscured mostly by dark shadow. Will can make out the faint moonlit outline of a pant line crossed over the other leg. He silently curses, wondering how he could have missed it.

"It is quite unimaginably rude to intrude into others’ houses, or offices, as I'm sure you're aware."

Will swallows his nerves, but his trembling hands betray his fear. "I...I didn't mean to cause offense."

The man stays silent.

Will looks up at him with the aptitude of a lamb looking into the eyes of a wolf. He, however, blinks once at the empty sight.

A quick glance around informs him he is indeed alone, with nothing but the pale moonlight cascading in from the long windows to keep him company.

* * *

"There was nothing there," Will rubs his hands, attempting to conjure warmth to his frozen digits.

"What?" Matthew stares long and hard at Will.

"There was...," Will sighs. "A note about a trip to New York. I believe he's taken a few files back to his house for further note writing, either that or he took them with him on the trip."

Will hears Matthew's sharp intake beside him, the only sign the man ever shows when he's frustrated.

"We can go, if you, uh, want."

Will sees Matthew turn to look at him in slight surprise out of his periphery. The brunet gives a contemplating huff, drumming his long fingers on the steering wheel, "Okay. If you're sure, Graham."

* * *

The looming pillars in the foyer appear more intimidating than the last time. Nothing seems out of place since the last occurrence of searching through the lavish confines of Lecter's house, as if the man himself was a ghost who's touch did not affect his surroundings, letting his belongings stay in a limbo of cold, darkness throughout the liminal space. Will often feels the same way about himself.

His feet are sure, taking him without much preamble to the study. He goes through the files once more. Will nearly praises God at the sight of patient files arranged in alphabetical order. _Dolarhyde ,Frank, Froideveaux ..._

The _Verger_ file lies near the end, manilla and thin just like the rest. Only inside is the file for one _Margot Verger_ , thus confirming Will's suspicions that she knew him more personally than Matthew let on.

Will frowns at the realization there is no file on Mason Verger.

De ja vu creeps into his brain, probing Will to look around frantically, suddenly as tense as a wire. There is noise coming from the level below him, small, and ambivalent, but as Will strains his hearing and makes his way to the staircase, it becomes much more audible. Much more dooming.

Against his better judgement Will is lured, as if in a trance under the fantasia's hypnotic tune.

He pauses outside the dining room, the classical music unmistakable now that he is before the door. He opens it.

Dinner is set.

The tabletop raises its offerings without timidity; porcelain dishes covered to the brim with entree's, sides, desserts, fruits, and main dishes displayed in what can only be described as impeccable beauty. Sprays of flowers are artfully set up in crystal vases. At the head of table there is vintage wine placed beside a glass in front of a single empty plate, its proper utensils lined beside it. Undeniably, there isn't a single declamatory piece about the arrangement, it is an altruistic manifestation of all that is priceless and quality, consideration shown throughout the botanical garden of foods and exquisites. Will does not require his empathy to figure out the motives behind the scene.

Who its dedicated for, is the mystery, albeit not an elusive one, much to his chagrin. He picks up the single note placed on the empty plate, _For you,_ inscribed in loopy calligraphy on it. The words inside butcher any admiration Will held for the extravagant display.

_"The intricacies of your mind deserve to be ravished with only the utmost caring lips._

_May the taste of my efforts be as fruitful and lavish as I find your brain to be."_

Like a frost flower blooms across a window pane, a heavy coil of emotion unfurls and spreads across Will's abdomen, drums against the knobs of his spine, constrains his throat, and pricks at the back of his brain. His eyes flutter close and he takes the rare moment to bask in his empathy bringing him someone else's pleasure.

Where his empathy enters a euphoria, the rest of him has breached a catacomb. Will's blood is frozen and mummified, a self defense mechanism abating his climaxing fear.

When Will finally opens his eyes, he finds his lips wet, warm fingers at the edge of his mouth. He removes them to find crimson staining the tips, giving the illusion of blood spreading across the follicles of his skin.

  
Horrified he looks down to find that what he's eaten is part of the pomegranates, said fruit still sitting on its plate, glancing up innocently at him. _He'll know._ Will chokes back bile because, _no, he has known from the start._


	5. I Didn't Do It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will's relationship problems reach a close. Or do they?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello I'd like to politely request everyone reread the tags cuz I added some things and dont want to cause any discomfort.  
> Also I had to delete a reupload this chapter cuz it wasnt showing up on the front page.

The drive home is silent. Will says a curt goodbye to Matthew.

_"So?"_

_"Just a file on Margot Verger."_

_Matthew purses his lips._

Secret. It has to remain secret. Not telling Matthew about what he found in the dining room feels the right option, though Will is unsure as to why. The card containing the cursive letters stays in his coat pocket. Despite its light material Will feels it like a boulder, or more accurately like a shackle attaching him to a metal ball, concrete evidence of Hannibal Lecter's obsession. It's only a matter of time before Will is thrown over the edge, the weight pulling him down into the thrashing seafoam.

By the time he enters the silent abode of his home, a quick glance at the golden pocket watch reveals it is well past midnight.

For someone who's stalker made an elaborate dinner for him, Will feels strangely at ease. Or rather, as opposed to fearful, he feels nothing. He softly pads into his room and for the first time in a long time, he falls asleep quickly, and deeply. Oblivious to the eyes watching him.

* * *

Snow still blankets the earth with unyielding fury the next morning, albeit, its indignation has calmed down slightly overnight.

Upon finding the dogs' bowls have been restocked with gleaming food, Will heads back to what used to be his bedroom-living room hybrid, his intention to find his fishing gear. He plans to sit on the ice, crack a hole, and catch a trout or two with the current frozen lake.

As he heads towards his tool drawer he immediately finds a bouquet of flowers arranged on its flat surface. Will's thoughts halt to a stupor, knowing damn well Molly isn't the type to buy him flowers. Further proving his point, the flowers look similar to the ones on display the night previous. Amidst the colorful flumes of red gerberas, white chrysanthemums, purple passiflora is a small cream envelope with his name written in the dignified loopy scrawl. The other note still lies in his coat pocket by the door, patient and just as dooming as the new one.

_"Your clockface is ticking, my dear."_

Amongst the fear blooming in his chest, a dosage of something Will felt the night previous intertwines with the dread creating a horrid cathartic amalgamation. The feeling like pricks and needles stabbing the knobs of his spine and neck. _Morbid excitement._

Will opens his eyes to find himself outside, his fingernails have dirt and grime in them. He spots a flower petal from the bouquet stuck between his fingers. He brings it up to his nose and breathes in its faint aroma. It's good that he buried the evidence of Hannibal's gift, though it's unfortunate to hide the gesture's beauty, he can't have Molly discovering his stalker's strange ventures.

Shaking his head, Will trudges towards the lake, fishing gear in hand. It's crucial that Will at all costs avoids finding Hannibal's attentions pleasurable.

* * *

"Whatever it is you've been feeding the dogs, it's making them bulk up quite a bit."

"What?"

Molly raises a brow. "I haven't fed them in weeks. You always get to it first."

For the past time Will had thought he'd simply forgotten. This morning however he was sure of it, he had not fed them, his mind had been clear and unmuddied up until the point he read the letter-

Will sits down on the couch, face carefully blank. "Yeah, I added a little more protein."

As if on cue, Winston draws up to Will, tail wagging excitedly behind him. Will pats through his fur lovingly.

* * *

Walter looks up at Will from his videogame. Will doesn't remember them being this gory.

"Dad?"

"Yes?"

Walter seems to contemplate his next sentence. "What happened to the gift you got mom?"

"What gift?"

"The one you left at the door."

Will frowns.

Walter's character shoots several others. A glimmer of silver is the only warning Walter and Will get before Walter's character is shanked in the back. Blood splatters the screen as the game log pulls up. Walter curses. He seems to catch his slip-up as his gaze snaps to Will's sharply, expression apologetic.

Will doesn't admonish the crude language this time, for he himself curses himself quite the same, only for an entirely different reason.

* * *

When Will climbs up to the room late that day he finds a box sitting on the bed. He figures this is the gift Walter mentioned earlier. It is wrapped in black wrapping paper.

"It came with this," a voice behind him says.

Will tries not to startle as Molly tosses a silver card on top of the box.

"Not just a boat motor you're fixing, huh?'

Will slowly turns his head to face Molly. The motion not unlike an old revolver's barrel, shifting a fresh silver bullet into place.

He sets his gaze downcast, fearing she may see his guilt.

"Open it."

It's not a request.

Trembling fingers unwrap the paper to reveal a maroon box, a brand name Will doesn't recognize is etched on the top. An image of Pandora and her box fly to the forefront of Will's mind as he lift off its lid slowly to reveal its contents.

There's a set of clothes inside. An expensive deep green collared shirt lies neatly folded atop a pair of black slacks.

"Read the card. Out loud." Her flat tone now has an edge underlying it.

Surprise filters through Will to find the words aren't hand-written, but instead printed in small ink.

_"I'd love to see you wear this the next time you come over for dinner."_

The small card crinkles into a ball inside Will's tight fist. He tosses it into the small bin by the bedside table.

A pregnant pause enters the room.

"How long are we going to play this game?"

Will wonders that himself but not about Molly and he. "I didn't do" -Will takes a breath- "what you think I did."

"Oh really?" Molly gives a choked mirthless laugh. "Don't look at me like that, Will. What am I supposed to think when you arrive to bed at 3 am every now and then? Do you think I don't notice how secretive you've been acting? How it costs you so much to have sex with me? You look pained every time you kiss me. I've tried being patient. I've tried confronting you about what might be bothering you. New flashy items have showed up around the house. I thought it might be a new job-"

"It is-" Will tries to explain.

"But it is _isn't_. Don't try to lie to me Will. Your guilt and paranoia has been visible. Only now I realize why."

"I understand my behavior the past month or two hasn't been what-"

"Past month or two?" Molly's eyes water.

Will's eyes widen.

"You've been like this long before that. Long before the headaches and hallucinations, if it is really true you have them." Molly's tears begin to shed, small glistening crystals cascading down her soft cheeks. "Maybe you made that up. Maybe you've actually just been in denial about yo-your...your transgression. Your coldness towards me has only gotten worse. I get you have your issues. I feel for you Will, I truly do. But would it have killed you to try to at least look more dedicated to our relationship?"

"I am," Will pleads.

"To be more dedicated to _this_?" Molly holds up the engagement band on her finger. She sobs, as she says, "To Walter? To _me_?"

"I care for you and Walter! _I love you_."

"But you aren't _in love with me_. Are you?" Molly slumps down at the edge of the bed. Will gazes down at her, forlorn. "Don't answer that."

"We rushed- I rushed too fast into this," Will sighs as he rubs the crease forming at the bridge of his nose. "When I met you, you weren't like any other person I'd ever met. I didn't think I would find it with anyone else again. You treated me fairly. You treated me _righteously. Kindly_."

"I'm starting to regret that," Molly says, voice numb and flat once more. Will senses a strong shift in her demeanor towards him. "What's her name?"

"There is no-"

" _His_ name?"

Will hesitates, mind betraying him as he thinks about how he hasn't told her about his stalker's advances. Molly takes this as admittance.

She nods as she slowly rises to her feet. "It seems we've wasted our time."

"Molly, I haven't cheated on you!"

"No?" The closet door bangs open as she begins plucking her clothes off the hangers. "I hope he buys your more pretty trinkets, clothes, an-and shoes," she chokes out as she kicks out the buried Italian pair Will had hidden.

"He didn't buy me those!" Even to Will his voice sounds unsure.

What he thought he had stolen versus what he knows Hannibal gave him becomes unclear.

Will realizes his verbal mistake too late as Molly levels him with a deadly blank stare. "Is the sex worth it?"

"I haven't fucked him. I-I haven't fucked anyone! There is no 'he' or 'she'."

"Don't try to fool me Will, I saw you arrive in his car last night."

"Who- Matthew?" Will feels an inappropriate urge to laugh hysterically. His voice comes out pained instead, "Molly I would never cheat on you."

"Right. Then tell me why every time you arrive late to the house it's always in his fucking car?! I'm not blind. That card just now said 'dinner'! Though I'm sure food wasn't the only thing you were shoving down your throat. 'A few drinks with college buddies', my ass!"

Will winces at having his lie from all that time ago -when Matthew showed up on his doorstep- thrown back at him. He finds he can't quite defend himself at Molly's accusations. This lie seems more plausible and is better than the truth. The last thing Will wants is to reveal just what type of man Molly truly got engaged to.

Will turns his head to find Walter at the doorway. His expression worried. "I-I heard yelling-"

"Pack some clothes Walter," Molly says sternly.

"But-"

"I said pack them, _now_."

"We should talk this out," Will begins.

"Don't you dare pull that on me right now," Molly shoves past Will and gently leads Walter out the door. "I gave you plenty of chances to talk."

"Where are you going?" Will follows them into the hallway.

"None of your business."

"Please stay, at least until you can properly find a new place. Or maybe you can have this one and I-"

"No. What I need is time away from you, away from here. I'll come back for the rest of our things in a week or two. Maybe more."

She turns around to head to Walter's room. "Wally? Are you finished packing?"

"I have a few things...will we be back?" Walter glances at Will, his expression yearning.

Will mistakenly makes eye contact and feels Walter's pain as if it were his own. Walter has already lost one father, now he will loose another one. Will wants to reach for his son and whisper assurances into his ear but knows that the time for that has reach it's expiration.

Making haste as Molly and Walter head down the stairs, Will grabs the documents for the separate savings account he'd made for Walter and Molly.

"What's this?"

"It's money, for you and Walter, in case you need anything." Will's eyes moisten.

"I don't need your money." Molly frowns. "It's not _his_ money is it?"

"No! No this"-Will swallows-"this I got on my own. Please take it. If you don't want to use it for you, save it for Walter."

She nods slowly.

A small sad shaky smile graces Molly's beautiful face. "You knew you'd eventually leave us."

"N-no. I," Will stammers. "I never planned on leaving. You're the one leaving me."

"Oh Will," Molly shivers as the cold air hits her. "You've been away for a long time now."

...

As their figures fade into nothing Will stays outside, letting frosty air bite at his face and fingers.

He doesn't know how long he stands there but by the time Will snaps out of it his skin has turned pallid, lips blue and cracked.

The snow has stopped falling.

Howls and worried muttering reach his ears, causing Will to turn towards the door to let the dogs out into the cool air along with him.

The door swings behind Will as he quickly grabs his coat and hunting rifle, making sure it has enough ammunition in the barrel. His low whistle signals the dogs to go on a run. Will slowly heads towards the trees, each stride the mark of a predator.

* * *

Blue eyes scan through the trunks and branches of the woods, eager to catch something. Anything.

There isn't much to hunt at this time of night but Will's father hadn't been a lubber hunter with a rifle, and he'd ensured neither was Will from a young age, despite Will's preference for luring.

The canopy of trees overhead shield him from the moon's judgement, though every now and then, the ever intrusive pale clockface peeks through the leaves enough to lighten the path where Will steps.

Wind flows through the air, carrying Will's scent away from any potential prey, much to his advantage. The issue now lies with the melting white powder consuming the soil, the noise of snow crunching underfoot could very easily alert any animal of his presence.

His swinging eyes catch the fleeting site of a dark figure through the brushwood to his left. The sound of soft huffing carries over through the wind.

The tip of the rifle leads the way carefully into a small clearing, Will's head rotates from side to side for any sign of the animal. The wind picks up again, only from behind Will and into the trees before him, alerting whatever may be amongst the conglomeration of leaves and branches of his scent.

Will's eyes narrow into small slits as the being lets out a low rumbling groan. While guttural and inhumane Will almost mistakes the sound for that of a human voice. Slowly, his eyes adjust to the obscurity and the figure of the familiar stag man becomes clear. From its protruding ribs, twisted antlers, and gaunt face, the living nightmare no longer brings Will much fear. All will can feel is righteous fury.

This catapults Will to shoot the beast several times, each bullet ricocheting through the air, disturbing the peace of the forest in loud booms.

When the anger no longer blinds Will's vision, he notices the stag man's absence. Blood still drums like hot gas through Will's veins, stormy and acidic. There's a scuttering sound further up ahead, and before Will knows it he's chasing after it, gun at the ready and hackles raised.

Eventually Will is surprised to find the noise has led him close by his house. The light from his shack cloaks Will and the snow surrounding him in a red hue. His breaths come out in varying gasps, cold and cloudlike in the freezing air. Eventually his racing heart cools down to a steady pace. Will has not felt so clear headed in months. He turns away from the sight of his shack and house to gaze back again at the woods, letting his rifle drop into the snow like leaves do to dirt.

The crunching sound of a small twig snapping catches Will's sensitive hearing. He slowly raises his head to face the tree it came from.

"I know you're there," Will says calmly. Voice not quite soft but not quite sharp either, just loud enough to be heard. "Don't you ever get tired of just watching?"

He receives no answer, but Will is not deterred. "Well I suppose watching isn't all you've been doing. I can feel your eyes on me often these days. Sometimes I think we're in the same room. Other times I think we're in the same mind."

Will doesn't quite know what he's saying, the words spill out against his will, he grasps at them but their liquid intonations slip away. No anger, no fear, and no elation taints them, they're just noise in the otherwise silent night air.

"Your gifts scared my fiancé away." Will should feel angry. He _had_ felt angry at the start of his hunt, in fact he'd been intent on killing. Something. _Anyone_. Though now that seems like so long ago. Instead Will feels the inappropriate urge to thank the shadowed man.

Thank him for what, Will's not sure. Maybe that he fed his dogs? The gifts? The dinner? That despite making Molly suffer she will now start off on a new path away from Will like he subconsciously hoped she one day would. For her sake.

"I could report you to the police," Will intones as he slowly reaches down to pick up his rifle.

Will conveniently chooses to ignore that the man has evidence of his breaking in. Instead he slowly raises the gun to where he knows the other man hides. His finger slides smoothly over the cool trigger. "I didn't find you interesting, if I'm being honest. I despise rich and insolent bastards like you. Nosy psychiatrists with no decorum who think they can _know_ me." Will takes a slow step forwards. "However, I'm no longer finding you all that boring."

The sound of a crash and his dogs barking comes from Will's house, prompting him to swivel around. For a moment Will thinks Molly has returned. He hesitates, glancing back at the quiet woods before ultimately choosing to investigate.

Will finds his dogs all scratching at the door, trying to get inside the cabin. With a firm gesture, Will instructs them to sit and wait for him there at the porch.

Will glances around the dark rooms, rifle still at the ready, "Who's in here?!"

The sound of a plate breaking comes from the kitchen. Once at the doorway Will glances around at the mess of glass shards and thrown utensils littered about the floor and counter. How could Hannibal have possibly gone back to the kitchen unnoticed if he'd been by Will outside? Or at least Will thought he had been.

As Will takes in the mess he realizes this destruction is motivated by fury not unlike the one Will had felt earlier, _someone feels wronged_. Will's memories flit back to the printed card. His eyes widen, the name at the tip of his lips. But before the syllables escape them a pair of long arms slither around Will's neck in a chokehold.

Will's rifle drops on impulse. He grasps at the arms cutting off air, but his attempts are fruitless, the smell of strong chemicals has already reached his nose. It weakens Will's fight. He makes one last attempt at slamming his elbows into the man's stomach, breaking free for a moment. Will tries to stumble away but before he can, his seafoam eyes meet green ones, as the prick of a syringe breeches his skin.

Will's last moments of consciousness as he drops down to the floor are the sounds of Matthew softly shushing him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope yall refresh your flower symbolism knowledge.
> 
> Will finally enters the game officially! Bloody scenes are finally to pop up next chap. Also sorry to anyone who was hoping Matthew Brown was a nice friend to Will lmao he’s pretty similar in his plans for him as in canon just more obsessed.  
> There will be more reciprocal exchanges between Will and Hannibal now as opposed to Hannibal doing all the work as he has been thus far,,,,only their convos won’t be quite direct for a little while still, but they’ll meet face to face eventually no worries.  
> I want to properly develop the mutual obsession first and then the romance as well as the other shenanigans in regards to Will’s messed up perception.


	6. Are you Interested?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay y’all, I’m going to politely request you guys read the tags again, I don’t want to cause any discomfort, thank you. Now that you have keep in mind Will’s moral grayness and the nsfw tags while reading this chapter lmao.

_Will's rifle drops on impulse. He grasps at the arms cutting off air, but his attempts are fruitless, the smell of strong chemicals has already reached his nose. It weakens Will's fight. He makes one last attempt at slamming his elbows into the man's stomach, breaking free for a moment. Will tries to stumble away but before he can, his seafoam eyes meet green ones, as the prick of a syringe breeches his skin._

_Will's last moments of consciousness as he drops down to the floor are the sounds of Matthew softly shushing him._

* * *

For a terrifying moment all Will can see is pitch darkness obscuring his sight, as if two black thumbs press down on his distended eyeballs, shielding Will from his fate. Slowly, his vision creeps in ringlets of color into the black abyss, small floating fuzzy shapes spread and dance about until finally his eyelashes flutter, and like curtains in a room encased in darkness, the motion reveals the seemingly blinding light of the outside surroundings. His head rests on what can only be the cold window pane of Matthew's car. Frost, glowing blue and sometimes yellow from the passing lights, has spread across it on the outside.

Sweat has pooled on the crevice of his natural frown despite the otherwise cold temperature. Will struggles to get his bearings as he feels a drop of the moisture slowly roll down his forehead. His breath comes out in short ruptured puffs, visible in the cool air. The stinging in his eyes only encourages Will to close them, serving his goal to feign being asleep. Will's not quite sure what Matthew's own goal is and he needs to mentally prepare himself for the inevitable confrontation.

_Hands are untied...no handcuffs...no blindfold...just drowsy, must be affect of the drug..._

A memory, fresh and unbidden pops into Will's mind.

_He's back in Hannibal's dining room. In front of him is the same porcelain plate as before, only now a slice of meat from the centerpiece, along with small red pomegranate seeds spread across the circular plane. His right hand holds the cool metal of his utensil, on which a small piece of honey smoked meat is stabbed through the prongs._

_Will brings it to his lips, eyes fluttering closed as he takes in its rich aroma, before finally, he savors the bloom of flavors as it enters his mouth. Where some flavors explode with passion across the expanse of his tastebuds, other, more subtle hints of sweetness drown Will's tongue like a soothing marinade. Will's Adam's apple bobs as he takes it all down in one slow swallow, and already he has grown accustomed to the food's spoils. Addicted._

Will tries not to startle at his remembrance. He's slightly horrified for what he's done, for letting himself feel pleasure in the taste of Hannibal's gift. However, he can't let himself waste time pondering over his past actions. What's more crucial is how Matthew could have possibly found out.

Will lets his fingers gently touch the corners of the notes still in his coat pocket, _I must have fallen asleep at some point on the way back that night. Matthew read it. Bought the gift with the clothes, typed a note knowing he couldn't recreate Hannibal's writing, and placed it where Molly would find it._

The anger from the previous night resurfaces at this realization, Will struggles to reign it in.

"Are you awake yet, Will?"

Will tries not to startle, and stays still as best he can.

"Ah, the drug should be wearing off, it might leave you disoriented for a bit."

A firm hand holds Will's shoulder in what Will interprets as mock reassurance. A sharp turn of the car sends him wheeling forward to the headboard of the car with a loud bang. Will wheezes slightly at the feel of something pointy protruding through one of his breast pockets into his chest.

Matthew grabs his shoulder and roughly shoves him back into his seat, where Will slumps back against the windowpane. The small sharp tool now pokes Will's chest sharply, he struggles not to show his discomfort. If he could just reach up and shift the jacket away...

Will scales the weight of his options. He decides to try and test the depth of Matthew's dedication to whatever this whole debacle is.

"How...long...have we been driving?" Will slurs.

'We' asserts a connection between the pair. There isn't much Will is sure of but he knows interest when he sees it. Matthew's elusive nature and thoughts now are as transparent as the icicles hanging from the trees they pass by. Proving his point, Matthew takes his eyes off the road to glance at Will in pleasant surprise.

"Long enough," there's a small curve at the corner of Matthew's lip. "Sorry about that. How do you feel?"

Will can tell he's not sorry at all.

"As well as anyone who was drugged might." Will leans his head back against the seat, head bent like a lifeless marionette facing Matthew. "Slightly dizzy..." Will coughs. "-parched."

"The next station isn't for another few miles." Matthew gives Will a considering glance. "This was the only way."

A mirthless laugh stumbles out of Will's lips against his control. That's just the pinnacle of this whole mess. People thinking there's only one sure way Will should live his life. It began with his distant-eyed father, continued with thinned lipped psychiatrists, an over bearing Jack Crawford, sad-smiled fiancée, the list goes on.

"Ever heard of...talking?" Will's eyes tactfully slide to Matthew's lips before flicking back up to Matthew's green ones for the duration of a short breath and then away. "There's a number of things you can accomplish with your mouth."

Matthew clears his throat as the street light flashes green. This is the first traffic light they've come across in a long time. "How's the wife, Will?"

"You've asked me that question on several occasions." Will glances back out at the field of white surrounding them. It almost seems like this is just another night with Matthew, the drive home after another heist. Will thought the snowy weather had been at the brink of finally melting away the night previous, at long last its cold touch would fade to give way to spring. "She was never my wife. And never will be. You made sure of that."

Matthew's fingers drum along the steering wheel. "I did try to tell you, it was only a matter of time before she realized we were involved."

"I suppose you did." Will turns his head, glancing down at his index as it slowly traces along the moisture of the window. Will can't help frowning at the absurdity of the situation, it finally catching up to him in fast increments of shock, as if someone dumped a bucket of ice water onto his scalp. An already fiasco of a situation managed to spiral into something much worse.

The car arrives at a sequestrated gas station in the middle of god knows where. Land and trees extend for miles all around, looming and taunting Will for his stupidity.

"I already have most of what we need. But are you hungry? You seem awfully pale, Will." a trace of the old Matthew Will has spent time with for many a night appears across his little smirk. "Can't have you fainting on me again, inmate Graham."

The phrase seems awfully familiar despite the fact Will's sure he's never heard it from Matthew's lips before. It is then Will realizes he doesn't quite remember how it is he met Matthew.

"Water. Just water."

The car door slams shut and Matthew makes his way to the small station. They're the only set of people besides the clerk in the vicinity.

Will reaches into his breast pocket and pulls the pronged device from it. He studies the way the gas station's fluorescent light bounces off the fishing hook, glinting metal winking in greeting. The lure is intricate and new, nearly identical to Will's own style but still, he knows this isn't his.

Will contains the hysterical laughter threatening to spill from him. His left hand pats his other breast pocket to find that, sure enough, the sound of crinkling paper lingers inside it.

The elegant sprawl across the envelope provides a small reassurance, much to Will's surprise. He opens it to find a small detailed drawing of the hook along with the cursive verses;

_"'Come after Me,_

_and I will make you Fishers for Men'_

_-Matthew 4:19_

_In light of the situation, I hope this small tribute to your artform proves useful. You know what to do, Will."_

"I didn't take you as the type with a sense of humor, Hannibal." Will tucks the card along with the other two in his hand pocket. "It seems I have no choice but to get to know you better."

A plan begins to form at the forefront of his mind. Will wonders for how long Hannibal and Matthew were aware of the other and their intentions towards him. _Probably since the beginning of this whole mess_ , Will scoffs. What good are his observations and ability to get into the minds of others if people manage to slip the cracks?

Will shakes his head, he can't berate himself, his denial of Matthew's strange behavior was in large due to his spiraling mentality caused by the discovery of Hannibal's obsession with him.

He gazes back out the window, past the thickets on the hill of the road across from the gas station. His mind enters the cosmic waves of his subconscious, gliding and spiraling smoothly like turbulence in the clouds.

The coiling darkness he's sensed for a while has now consumed not only his core but the rest of his organs and blood stream, plaguing his being and urging him to act out what he's been trying to suppress in his conscious wake. Nothing would bring Will greater elation than to ravish Hannibal and Matthew with the kisses and caresses of a fierce blade. Fervent touches raking crimson across the cream colored skin of sturdy backs, flailing limbs filled with hypertension as their defenses kick in, pressuring the air out of their mouths in strangled sighs as he chokes them, watching as their ribs quiver with the last of their life force, heartbeats fluttering like caged birds beneath his killing grasp, Will grinding firmly, rapidly, _obscenely_ into their flesh and bones until the the smell of viscera fills the air and Will at long last reaches a salacious ecstasy at the hemorrhage of blood exploding from the men. Shivers of pleasure cascade down Will's spine at the fantasy.

* * *

They're on the road again. The vibration of the car's engine roars gently as they make their way into what is probably a state over. Will's lost track of the amounts of signs they passed, flashing and gazing at him in their forest green forlorn squared faces with unrecognizable names like pitying strangers who witness poverty in the streets. Matthew steals questioning glances at Will, as if the thief knows not whether Will is an illusion or real. Will wryly wonders if it's because of his lack of resistance to his predicament or if it's because Matthew's pondering putting more restraints on him.

Finally, the suspended silence is broken by Matthew himself. "Do you recall what we first discussed before this all began?"

"Are you referring to our latest...obstacle, or our actual first meeting?"

"Our first meeting."

"Enlighten me."

"No one quite understands me, Graham." There it is. Will turns his head to face Matthew, eyes concentrated on the bridge of his profile. "You and I, are like hawks, Will."

"Hawks are solitary creatures."

Matthew laughs, Will frowns in confusion. "This is a trip down memory lane, _dear Will_." he leers the words. What he's prodding at evident.

"What does Hannibal have to do with our first meeting?"

"Nothing and everything. People like him belong with people like us. Like you. But I found you first and I'm not going to give you up so easily."

Will scoffs and Matthew's grip on the steering wheel hardens. "When Margot first approached me with those glimmering shiny eyes of hers I had no idea what his intentions where. I won't be made a fool again, Will. Not again, and not by _you_."

The car swerves into a dirt clearing.

"Step out of the car and face the trees."

It's not a request. Will calmly unbuckles his seatbelt and does as told.

"I won't hurt you Will, not unless I have to." the firm metal of a gun nudges Will forward. "Let's take a stroll, shall we? The woods are very beautiful at this point of year. You tried hunting the wrong man last night, Will. A shame really, I would have loved the chase. A little adrenaline goes a long way. "

Will senses the small hook still in his pocket like an extension of himself, lying patiently in wait.

Matthew handcuffs Will and prods him forward once more, only this time they both begin their descent into the abyss of branches and leaves, snow crunching underfoot.

They walk for a while like this, Will leading the way further into the trees until Matthew tells him to stop in a clearing.

He turns around to face Matthew with bored eyes. "He won't come."

"No? I disagree."

Will'd seen a small glimpse of a car following them miles back but he's unsure if that was a figment of his mind's collateral damage caused by the recent events.

He has to keep Matthew distracted to ensure Will dislocates his thumb without the other man noticing. The handcuffs get heavier every second he's in them. "Just who are you trying to impress, Matthew? Him or me?"

Matthew grins waving his hand around theatrically, "You know, Judas had the decency to hang his head at his betrayal."

"You think I've betrayed you?"

"When were you going to tell me about the letters, Will? Did you think I wouldn't find out? About them or the little presents he sent you?" Matthew breathes into his hand before shrugging. "You're like a bad urge I can't contain, Will. Trust me, darling, my intentions are sincere."

"You have no claim over me, Matthew." the anger Will had been brewing arrives to a boil. "You're just the man I steal with on occasion."

"Thieving? Is that all you thought this was?" sharp laughter escapes Matthew as he edges nearer. His face draws close to Will's, now only a breath away. "Poor, loony, Will Graham. You have all the right puzzle pieces. It's just a matter of fitting them together."

Will takes a breath, letting it mingle with Matthew's as he stares down at his lips, as the tension in the air carries itself along the waves of danger. A sharp pop rings the air but before Matthew can react Will brings his now freed hands to the back of Matthew's neck and pulls his face into his, meshing their lips together in tandem to Will's beating heart. Will's hungry, craving for violence, the same is reflected in Matthew, but they instead ease out their hatred through the rhythm of their tongues as their teeth clack at each other in livid fervor.

The otherwise cold air sparks at the contrast as they create heat between their shared movements. Their bodies roll against each other as if trying to conjoin, thrumming with energy. A hardness nudges at Will's lower regions, causing his eyes to fly open. He sees a flash of movement amongst the trees. Will pushes Matthew away from him, a string of saliva still connecting them. Matthew frowns in confusion, Will gives him his trademark grimace-smile, "Let's go back to the car, it's warmer there."

"Look at you, escaping my constraints." Matthew's hand reaches up to touch Will's face. Will squares his jaw to prevent himself from flinching away at the touch.

They make there way through the slowly falling snowflakes back to the vehicle, Will feels eyes on him the entire way, causing the barest of smirks to play at his lips.

"We can get a hotel room-"

"Here is fine," Will assures with a shake of his head as he sits on the edge of the back seat, car door wide open.

"I don't have-"

"You have your mouth."

Matthew seems a bit taken aback at the sudden steeliness of Will's voice. He tilts his head in question before grinning once more. "Were you this cold with her?"

"Only you."

"That's what I like to hear." Matthew's warm breath fans across Will's now exposed stomach before he springs Will's cock free into the frosty air. Will hisses at the sensation of the wind touching his bare skin, but Matthew fixes the issue with his lips. They press at the pink head slowly in a gentle kiss, giving long firm licks up the sides, before he takes the length into the cave of his mouth, letting his saliva make entrance easier. Will leans back into the seat, prompting Matthew to hover forward with either hands on the sides of Will's hips. The pace is languid at first, as if Matthew savors every breech of Will into the plain of his tongue and hollowed cheeks. Will allows himself a moment of pleasure as his cock finally begins to rise, blood drumming through it, painfully aware of Matthew's ministrations.

Will's knees draw up as he arches into the smooth sensation. Eventually Matthew bobs his mouth down with ease, engulfing him deep into the rough crevice of his throat with choked sounds. Will faintly recalls his earlier fantasy and pulls his hand up to let his fingers linger into his coat pocket, playing with the prongs of his hook. With a sloppy pop, Matthew glances up at Will, smirk dancing along his lips. "Do you trust me, Will?"

Will gazes past him, past the open car door and into the trees where the familiar figure of the stag man stands, observing. "I trust you to fulfill your nature."

"What would Hannibal Lecter say if he saw you here, under me?" Matthew says before swirling his tongue around the cherry head.

Will brings his hand up and lets his fingers thread into Matthew's short brown strands, before harshly shoving the man's lips down to the base of his hilt, a choked sound escapes Matthew. Matthew takes the rough treatment in stride and sets a rapid pace brimming with electricity, swallowing Will whole in every bob of his head. Unexpected delight fills Will, knowing well the other presence watches. With this thought in mind he rolls his hips up to meet Matthew's lips, the sounds filthy and squelching, stretching on for minutes before finally releasing hot flashes of white into the other's mouth.

Before Matthew can catch his breath, cheeks rosy, and eyes hooded, Will pulls him up by the scruff of his collar and gives him a biting kiss. The stag man is gone from view. "I'm afraid the show's over, Matthew."

Matthew glances at Will with confusion before a pained gasp escapes him at the intrusion of the hook's nail into the corner of his lips. Will lets the firm metal sink in before extending his elbow and dragging the gash deep into the side of Matthew's cheek. His mouth forever etched into a ragged smirk.

Blood spills onto Will's face and shirt as Matthew's hands grasp at his permanently ripped smile.

Fury rips across Matthew's eyes at the sight of Will's blank expression as he tucks himself back into his pants. He lunges for Will's neck but Will evades him and turns him on his back so that he straddles Matthew's hips, hands wrapping around Matthew's pulse point. "I had a good time, Matthew," Will says with a hurricane's calmness. "You're going to have to play harder though."

There's the relishing sound of Matthew struggling underneath him, attempting to gasp for air, wind pipes clogged and blood still pouring from the ugly gash at the side of his mouth. Will closes his eyes to take it all in, heart beat fluttering at the sensation, finding the pleasure he receives from it not dissimilar to the one he felt earlier under Matthew's mouth. He lets his head fall back before his eyes fly open to find moths encasing the grey ceiling of the car, hundreds of them fluttering and gazing at him in judgement. They disappear in a blink, and Will quickly draws back from Matthew, letting the other man heave in air before his eyes film over, thus losing consciousness.

 _What the fuck have I done?_ Will rips part of Matthew's shirt before applying pressure to the wound. Will remembers Matthew's earlier words about having 'everything they needed', thus spurring Will to climb out the open car door before reaching the trunk. He lets out a frustrated sound to find it locked before going back to Matthew, searching his pockets until he hears the jangle of his keys.

* * *

His stitch-work isn't the best but it will have to do. Will shakes his head before climbing into the driver seat and shutting the door. Fear ebbs away at him as his anxiousness vibrates through him and causes tremors to shake along his limbs, struggling to accept what he's done, what he's _attempted._ Any longer and Matthew would have been dead.

Will slams his forehead against the steering wheel in frustration. If Jack Crawford saw him now he could only claim self-defense for so long before the judge would shake their head and send Will behind bars. All this stress and his fleeting grasp on his sanity isn't enough for Will to convince himself he didn't like having Matthew taking him in his mouth as much he liked ripping it and nearly killing him. He'd been painfully too aware of his actions on the former occasion but all the more pleased on the latter, as if it was just a morbid post hate-sex foreplay normal people engaged in, to ever claim he wasn't aware of what he was doing.

But maybe it wasn't that he liked fucking Matthew's mouth as much as he liked the fact that Hannibal most likely watched. Came to the thought that underneath the impeccable person suit, somewhere a part of Hannibal snapped. A crack in his mask could only mean danger and Will found he was starting to like it. How far could he push before the good doctor has no choice but to reveal himself to Will?

Maybe he can claim insanity after all.

With this in mind, and a hefty dose of disappointment that Hannibal didn't come yelling out of the woods in rage he surely felt at Will's good use of Matthew's mouth, Will carefully administers thick liquid into the syringe he had retrieved from the same medical kit Will used for Matthew.

"It's time to go home." Will carefully inserts the needle into his bloodstream. "I'm lost."

As he slowly feels his mind escape him to some rendezvous point, he can’t help thinking about what Hannibal will do once he finds Matthew’s body in the back seat. Will’s studied and breached the mind’s of far too many predators to not recognize that Hannibal is one. The more sensible part of Will feels a bit guilty at leaving Matthew to an unknown fate, despite his creepy obsession with Will he had considered him something akin to a mock-friend. However, a larger portion of his subconscious delights in thinking about what might happen.   
  
Will at long last diverts away from consciousness. Beside him a small prepared note lies in his hand.

_”I wonder if you’re like me, Hannibal Lecter._

_Is that what you saw?_

_A mold ready to shape to your liking?_

_I hope you know, I don’t like people poking around my head.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha I hope y’all don’t hate me for this update. Things only get darker from here. Also this isn’t the last we see of Matthew ofc.
> 
> Next chapter has some of Hannibal’s POV on recent events ;0.


	7. Let’s Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some Hannibal POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait!

Wind howls, rattling everything to its core that falls under its miserable cry. A thin sheet of frost spreads across the car's window, hazing everything and giving the illusion of a faint memory, before being cleared by the wipe of the windshields. Despite the warmth seeping in from the car's ventilation system, Hannibal feels cold to the bone. Only the occasional twitch of his mouth, the creasing of his eyes, and his tight grip on the steering wheel gives any indication of his cold fury freezing over every joint of his body, making every movement stiff, on the occasion that there is movement, that is. His face is for the most part catatonic, mask unbreakable.

As Hannibal drives, road slicing through a myriad of trees, all slightly bowing to him in mourning under the weight of the snow, he begins to replay the events that led to this point in time. He had expected an altercation with Matthew Brown eventually, but this is far sooner than he'd foreseen. This thought both sends his blood tingling with excitement and sends an icy feeling down his throat, it seems his Will is far more unpredictable than he imagined. However, it wouldn't do for Will to get _too_ ahead in their game and far too fast either, lest Will frighten at his virulent violence and scurry. He must ensure the blue eyed man will completely see the perfection in the design Hannibal so meticulously planned for them both.

* * *

The forest appears dark against the slowly lightening sky, the branches like crooked fingers reaching for the grey gloom of clouds. Hannibal observes as Will and Matthew Brown discuss, their postures are tense, like circling snakes waiting to pounce. Will dislocates his thumb and pulls his hand from from the glinting metal of his handcuffs, inspiring a small twitch of amusement from Hannibal's lips.

Just when Hannibal is sure Will might pull out the gift Hannibal gave him, Will wraps his arms around Matthew's neck instead, clashing their heads together, though not a single cut crosses Matthew's flesh. It takes a moment for Hannibal to realize that Will isn't choking Matthew...but kissing him. Feverously, Will's lips mesh against Matthew's, there's anger there, tension in his jaw and his posture, but he's not without control. Will's kissing him _willingly_. A shadow falls over Hannibal's face.

Will pulls away from Matthew and whispers what can only be dark suggestive obscenities into the man's ear. Matthew agrees with a smirk of his own and they begin their trek through the snow.

Quiet, quick deadly steps follow the pair back to the car. A group of crows sitting in the canopy of branches far above murmur amongst themselves, their beady black eyes observe as snow and wind swerves around the striding form of the angry predator following his prey down below. Every movement he makes is marked by an aura of venomous danger, increasing, and seemingly silencing every watchful critter of the woods.

Will leans back in the car seat, legs slowly falling open, his pale finger beckons Matthew closer, the picture of coy temptation. His lips are flushed a pretty pink the color of yew berries, poisonous but alluring, though his eyes are a flat tone of steel. Matthew inexorably falls for Will's sweet trap, caving like hopeless prey slumps in the mouth of a wolf, only he's more than happy to do so, revels in it even. Hannibal clenches his jaw, tightening his fists. A snarl rips along his lips as the impertinent green eyed scoundrel takes Will into his mouth, swallowing and tainting his cock with his repugnant touch. Despite Matthew's corruption of Will's flesh, the latter pays no mind to him working below, instead he stares straight into the trees, where Hannibal fumes, seems to switch between frenzy and a half-lidded haze. As if realizing his lack of enthusiasm, Will slams Matthew's head down into his hilt, and begins pivoting his hips up, arching himself deep into Matthew's throat in earnest, little heaves trembling along his chest, tossing his head back in pleasure, before snapping his gaze back at Hannibal, eyes clouded over. Despite the distance Hannibal doesn't miss the taunting expression spread across Will's face, eyes narrowed in challenge as if saying _'If it bothers you, come and get me.'_

Not even an infinite expanse of lit candles could light the dark abyss consuming Hannibal. Every snap of friction he witnesses between the men in the car sends a tremor of sharp fury tearing through him as if Will were cutting Hannibal with his own hand. His anger is all-consuming, possessive and acidic, Hannibal envisions himself rupturing all contact from Will and the simpering minx of a man, brutally dislocating their bones and rendering their bodies mangled red and flesh messes for their transgression.

It's blatant what Will wants, his sacrilege under the hands of Matthew callous and challenging every fiber of Hannibal's self control, but Hannibal will not give Will the satisfaction of rousing himself out of the shadows. So instead. he draws away from his spot and begins to edge around the skirts of the forest, intent to surprise the pair from the other side of the car.

As Hannibal comes around, blade clenched sharply in hand, Will pulls away from Matthew.

"The show's over, Matthew."

The shine of a metal is all the warning Matthew and Hannibal get before Will spears it into Matthew's lip corner and tears a slash through it, shaping it into a ragged smirk. Blood sprouts onto Will, baptizing him in its red holiness, before he flips Matthew underneath him.

Hannibal watches with rapt attention as Will strangles the air out of Matthew, pleasure basking his blood stained features in a holy glow, a vengeful angel so lost in his macabre euphoria he fails to notice Hannibal behind the car. Hannibal licks his lips in anticipation for the killing blow...only it never comes. Will seems to scare away from what he's done, frightened eyes running around the man underneath him. Hannibal swiftly retreats back towards the trees, contemplative.

The sun has begun to rise though it hides behind the monochrome clouds, as if still afraid of the commotion that had gone on down below. The image of Will indulging himself in causing Matthew's pain replays through Hannibal's mind, lighting a match of anticipation for what is to come of Will's future. He stashes the memory away in his mind for further inspection later on, for now he's apt to go back to observing his specimen with unwavering attention as he tends to the unconscious man's wounds. It seems so fitting that the same hands who could cause such violence be capable of the reverse, a similarity that Hannibal relishes that he and Will share. Only Hannibal hasn't ever felt particularly inspired to actually save anyone's life by his own volition. It is clear Will is not yet ready for their dominion quite yet, still holding far too much sympathy and guilt. Though Hannibal is sure that a little prodding will send him in the right direction, the one where he himself walks.

Will injects himself with no hesitation, spurring a tendril of fondness from Hannibal as it becomes clear that this act could potentially bring Will's demise but also his rebirth, placing his life and Matthew's in the hands of Hannibal. He reads Will's invitation note before gently securing it in his coat pocket, mindful not to let it wrinkle.

Dangerous fingers hover over Will's pulse point, caressing smoothly the pale skin that lies there, considering what it might be like to end it, before letting the back of his hand feel Will's face, checking his temperature. Indignation still simmers through Hannibal. Though he plans to punish Will and Matthew, he can't help the devotion thrumming through him as he gently wipes a smudge of blood on Will's lips. "You keep surprising me, dear Will."

Hannibal carefully slides his arms under Will's arms and knees, drawing Will up to the warmth of his chest, and carries him off through the foggy horizon.

* * *

**[A Time Before Will and Matthew breeched Hannibal's house]**

_"Photographs are...sensitive things,"_ the man speaks slowly, annunciating every word slowly, dragging his 'S's the same way a reptile might hiss. _"They require care...and thought. I'm not sure I can continue to provide mass amounts all in high quality to fit your...needs."_

 _"What do you recommend?"_ Hannibal responds.

_"You are a man of lavish...tastes, Dr. Lecter. A successfully intimate photo requires...intimacy with the subject."_

Hannibal mulls this over before nodding in slight. He'd suspected as much.

He exits the small shop, thoughtful. As Hannibal walks his way to his car, the wind changes direction, carrying over the scent of a man doused in an intrusive sharp smell -a salty sea musk mixed with cigarettes- that sends Hannibal's nostrils flaring. He turns his head halfway, taking note of the figure watching him from across the street in the shadows. Hannibal swerves back around, miffed but bored, now used to the watchful presence.

* * *

"I'd like to report a vehicle. It's been abandoned here some miles from the 76th highway here by Bradforth Woods. The backseat is covered in blood."

"What's the license plate number?"

"Uh, it's 7SH- and uh...Oh-ohh. Oh my god. _Oh God_. There's a body there! Right there, b-by a tree. It-it's been-"

"Sir? Sir! I'm going to need you to calm down. First, take ten steps away from the body, don't look back. Take a deep breath. Yes. That's it. Authorities will be with you soon, please stay put until then and refrain from touching anything."

* * *

A blue glow irradiates down on the man restrained to a chair. Straps and shackles surround every limb, allowing for little movement. He stirs awake, at once perfectly aware of the eyes watching him.

"Where is he?"

"Away from you," the low baritone replies from the shadows.

Matthew twitches his lips in amusement. "I suppose introductions would be futile."

There's a shift of movement, the sound of fabric brushing against itself. "Perhaps. Though I've always appreciated social etiquette."

"I'm everything but polite, _Hannibal Lecter_ ," Matthew says in a mocking tone. He attempts glancing around in vain. Only darkness greets him. "Our darling Will still cares about me. A shame you keep me from him."

"You won't be seeing him any longer," Hannibal replies smoothly, though there is a slight edge in his tone. "Furthermore, he's left you quite the ugly scar, right before trying to take your life, no less. You aren't the first to have his advances rejected, so tell me Mr. Brown, _how does it feel?_ I myself have never been placed in that disposition."

Matthew's tongue runs along the inside of the ripped flesh of his cheek, noting the rough stitch work of what could only be Will's doing. A smirk graces his lips. "I feel...victorious."

Matthew angles his head, his vision adjusts and he finally makes out the form of Hannibal seated across him, leg crossed casually over the other. A laugh escapes him at Hannibal's silence, the loud noise only growing the longer Hannibal stares in silence.

"Don't you see, doctor?" Matthew smirks. "I've been _marked._ The only thing connecting you to him is that number of fap material in your attic and flimsy cards. I've felt his touch, his anger. Even in the throes of his pleasure underneath my tongue did I not get to see Will truly glow so beautifully as he did when he tried to kill me. A photograph or note will never reach that level of intimacy."

Matthew spreads his knees apart as far as they can go, letting the scent of his arousal taint the air. Hannibal's skin pulls tight across the slopes of his skull, jaw set, in barely concealed wrath. His mind at once runs along the spines of several torture methods of his pain encyclopedia. He'll have to settle for the remote in his hand for now.

"You should have seen how dangerously he unraveled underneath me. The sound of his small little sighs as he grinded into my mouth-"

A sharp electric sting courses through Matthew at the press of a button. The pain reduces him to messy ragged huffs of breath. "My, my, my, a bit jealous are we?" Matthew heaves once it's over. Hannibal notes that despite Matthew's bravado there's a crease in his mask of indifference. "Should you ever touch him, you'll live with the reminder that I laid my claim in his flesh first."

Hannibal stands with quick flourish, stalking across the room. Ephemerals of scenarios play across his head in one messy concoction of fervent ire and madness. As he nears, however, Hannibal realizes he's let some degree of his affectedness seep into his face, if Matthew's gleeful expression is anything to go by. He can't allow himself to be goaded into killing Matthew quickly, though he monstrously wants to. What a wonderful sound the snap of his neck would make.

"He'll never utter your name again." Hannibal turns away, hand hovering over a wide variety of sharp tools displayed across the table beside the death chair Matthew sits in, an air of regality about him despite his confinement. Hannibal suspects that no matter what scenario Matthew was placed in the leech would still manage to find a reason to smirk and taunt. A vein throbs along Hannibal's forehead. "I'll erase every sign of you having ever existed."

"Erase?" Matthew clicks his tongue. "You play dirty Hannibal Lecter. I'm not opposed to electrocution or other forms of torture, I once had a girlfriend who was very into it. The pretty blonde thing was so shy at first sight, but so sadistic in bed" -a low chuckle- "I imagine, well... _I know_ , Will is the same. Guess you could say I have a type."

Translucent liquid smoothly fills the syringe to its brim. Hannibal’s hand then flies to the scalpel at the end of the table. "Is that right?"

"Mmm," Matthew hums. "Will won't appreciate you killing me."

The thin needle slips into Matthew's arm, though upon further consideration, Hannibal pulls it back out, liquid still in it's vial. He'll have Matthew suffer through the pain in full. He'll just have to make sure the pain isn't high enough to kill him quite yet. He'll extend his death for as long as he can.

"He, quite simply," Hannibal adds as if explaining why the sky is blue and rain falls, though his tone never once lingers with the anger he so feels. "-left your livelihood in my hands, Mr. Brown. Will is a curious man, whether you come out alive or dead is of no importance. He's unattached to you."

The scalpel's cap comes off with a small pop. Matthew makes a derisive noise indicating his disagreement. 

"One can be attached and still let go. We had a nightly arrangement of sorts, as you're no doubt aware of, _given you were our latest target_. We'd grown very close. Though I fear he doesn't remember how much I mean to him. His mind has been a fog for so long," Matthew says, sighing wistfully, mind elsewhere. "Your stalking certainly didn't help in that regard. He's forgotten a lot more. He goes through phases where he becomes _my_ Will, and then he retrieves himself into that paranoid shell again, yelling at things that aren't there. Like...clockwork. I had to take him far away, or die trying. You're no good for him, Hannibal Lecter."

Hannibal pauses all movement. His blood colored eyes bore into Matthew's pools of forest green. The tension in the room is palpable, Hannibal can taste it the same way he does spices ground and sprinkled over meat. 

Matthew chuckles sharply as Hannibal makes the first incision into his flesh.

"It's only a matter of time before the hands realign."

* * *

A bird projects it's shrilling call, rousing Will to a sitting position. He'd dreamt of warmth encasing him, languid and easing his body like a steady stream. The faint memory of antlers and beady eyes is all he's left with. Now wide awake, Will scrambles around the sheets for purchase.

He's back home.

With a shake of his head, Will represses an emotion he decides is _not_ disappointment, and stretches himself out, popping every sore joint from what must have been the longest car ride of his life. The sound of worried scratching against the door unfurls a smile across his lips. He lets them come scrambling in.

"Hello there." Several heads nip at him in greeting, all wanting to check Will is indeed there, worn out worse for wear but still their kind smelly owner.

Will pats their prodding heads. He notes his dislocated thumb has been lodged back into place, clothes changed, and skin cleaned of blood. There’s a black box sitting on his nightstand. 

The doorbell startles him out of his momentary wonder, prompting Will to make his way down the stairs two steps at a time. He's not sure what he's expecting, but all excitement drowns out of his face as he pulls the door open to reveal Jack Crawford standing on his porch. Worry creases his face.

"Jack?" Will says dumbly, dazed.

"Hello Will, it's been a while," Jack says, grimacing. "I wish I'd visited under different circumstances."

"I hope you're not here to call me back to work for you again," Will warns. He'd left every one of Jack's voicemails unanswered.

"No, Will." Jack removes his hat. "I'm here to investigate you for homicide...May I come in?"

Will's mind comes to a halt. Time seems to slow down as he gestures Jack inside with a loose sweeping gesture, gaze empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be more Hannibal POV from here on out :3.  
> Some of you were right about your theories hehe.


	8. An Offer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack is worried about what Will is capable of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oml sorry for the long delay. I’ve been so busy. I got a new job and I have also written for flashfic I’m so sorry for not updating.

_"Jack?" Will says dumbly, dazed._

_"Hello Will, it's been a while," Jack says, grimacing. "I wish I'd visited under different circumstances."_

_"I hope you're not here to call me back to work for you again," Will warns. He'd left every one of Jack's voicemails unanswered._

_"No, Will." Jack removes his hat. "I'm here to investigate you for homicide...May I come in?"_

_Will's mind comes to a halt. Time seems to slow down as he gestures Jack inside with a loose sweeping gesture, gaze empty._

* * *

**[Earlier in the morning previous to Will's wake and Jack's arrival]**

The sun bears down on the figures below, finally having the courage to face the world after its long stay behind turbulent grey clouds. Curls the color of dusk and the trodden earth beside them fall in lacy layers across the dormant man's forehead. No creases or thoughts tremble along his face, to the rest of the world he may very well be dead. The pink of his lips starks flushed in contrast to the pale of his skin, Hannibal would love nothing more than to press his own to those, but he tamps the feeling down with something more secure, that of which is his still simmering anger.

Beside Will lies a note of which Hannibal flourishes up to scrutinize, analyzing the messy handwriting and its message. Slowly, the frown on his brow gives way to consideration as well as appreciation for Will's cunning. Hannibal's hand still itches to move forward and kill, force the last remaining breaths out of Will before his timely demise, but he stops himself on the account that the game he's set up with Will would go to waste. As always, Hannibal despises the mere thought of being wasteful.

"Discourtesy is an ugly thing, Will. How will I punish you two?" Hannibal says, glancing over at Matthew Brown who is unconscious in the back seat.

...

Hannibal shuts the door of his car and retrieves Will from the passenger side. He'll be waking soon and Hannibal knows he'll be expecting some form of his reaction to the events of the early morning.

Will's dogs wait by the still open door, tails wagging with anxiety. They bark as they catch sight of their owner's dormant form. A small white one with an underbite in particular growls menacingly at Hannibal, though she is quelled with a hard glance. After feeding them they budge up to Hannibal, remembering him from the other times he made a visit. There's little time left, so Hannibal pushes his sleeves up and gets to work on cleaning the mess of Will and Matthew's altercation in the kitchen the night previous.

Overall Will didn't suffer many wounds, save for a scratch here and there, the most major being his dislocated thumb which Hannibal pops back into place. After thoroughly cleaning and dressing Will, Hannibal stuffs his bloodstained clothes into a bag for perhaps later use. The whole process is methodical, and reminiscent of his days where Hannibal worked at the E.R.

After gently tucking Will into his bed, Hannibal checks the time to find he can spare a few minutes. This prompts him to retrieve the box from the car, it is unwrapped but still elegant and will make a fine present. Hannibal places it by Will's bed stand then stares back to properly rake his gaze across the man's body. Had Hannibal only had more forethought he'd have brought his sketchbook with him. Instead he burns the visual of dormant Will's slow breathing and quivering long lashes to his brain, looking every part the muse of poets and artists of old.

* * *

**[A few months previous]**

_"You know you will have to kill him Margot. You've known it for years."_

_"I may have missed my opportunity. Mason hired a stocky, florid man in an alpine hat. I'm told a leading practitioner in the profession of making people disappear."_

_"Was that the nature of your brother's threat?"_

_"In no uncertain terms, I'm to behave myself or I'll be fed to the pigs."_

Hannibal studies her for a moment, observing her strict self imposed air of control. Despite her nearly impeccable appearance he sees fragile porcelain that's been dropped one too many times. All the cracks that make her, lined in gold.

_"Do you know why you failed to murder your brother, Margot?"_

_"Poor planning,"_ She mutters, a touch of bitterness tainting her tone.

_"You failed to murder your brother because you still love him."_

Hannibal can see the moment his words cut deep into her, as her expression morphs to one of self disgust.

_"In love, you take leave of your senses, but in hatred, you must be present to calculate your actions."_

Margot frowns. _"I'm present."_

 _"Than allow yourself to hate him."_ Hannibal muses for a moment. He's never been one to let opportunity slip by him. _"I have a proposition for you Margot."_

Margot glances up at him with curiosity.

Hannibal begins relaying a plan to her, the longer he talks the more Margot's pursed lips slowly curve into a faint smile.

* * *

"You know the drill, Will, so I'll get right into the thick of it. Carlo Deogracias was found gutted and nailed to a tree. The car abandoned a few yards away from him is registered under one Matthew Brown. His blood splattered across the backseat. Some of _your_ hairs were found in the passenger seat, along with handcuffs, clothes, a hefty amount of cash, a medical bag, and various forms of sedative anesthesia. Matthew Brown is at large and being searched for."

Jack lays out the crime scene photos across the table. Will doesn't look down at them quite yet. He doesn't need to, as he already suspects what he'll find in them.

"I know you Will. You had your mental stumbles and turbulent experiences with cases not unlike the one you see before you. They got to you. You spent time at a hospital _because_ they got to you. I want to know if you were maybe coerced into Matthew's car, if he attacked you, or attacked Carlo Deogracias in front of you? An explanation. So, you understand why you are here, don't you?"

"It's crystal clear."

"Good, moving on, can you relay to me the events of the day previous? From the beginning of yesterday morning to this one. And please, take your time."

Will takes a breath.

"I woke up around 6-7am, went about my usual routine of feeding my dogs. Fishing until 8 am. Then spent the afternoon in the living room with my son Walter as he played video games. Later that evening I went up to my room and Molly-" Will pauses, knowing how bad this will look for him in the future should he omit he and her had their dispute. "-my fiancée, asked me to open a box."

"A box?" Jack's writing hand ceases movement as he looks up.

"A present," Will clarifies.

"Whom was it from?"

"Matthew Brown."

"Continue."

"It was a set of clothes from some upscale brand."

"Do you still have them with you?"

"I burnt them," Will winces. "That's not the point. The point is, Molly believed this was proof I'd been cheating on her."

"Cheating on her with Matthew Brown?"

"Yes," Will grounds out through marginally gnashed teeth.

Jack stares at Will contemplatively before, " _Were_ you cheating on her with Matthew Brown?"

"No."

"With anyone else?"

" _No_ ," Will emphasizes. "I- I loved Molly."

"'Loved'? You don't anymore?" Jack raises a brow, but Will sees no judgement in his eyes.

"It's complicated. I would have never slept with anyone else, regardless," Will says. "It doesn't matter, in the end, she took Walter and left."

"Do you know where?"

"No, though most likely to her parents in Ohio. She said she'd be back in two weeks to pick up her stuff."

"What happened next?"

"I went out for a walk in the woods to clear my mind. I also let my dogs out."

Will remembers the feeling of adrenaline coursing through him, his heartbeat drumming loudly in his ears as his eyes studied the dark shroud of trees.

"That's awfully late for a walk. Did you see anything interesting?"

_Will runs after the fleeting visual of the stag man. The ghost of movement takes him deep until he reaches a riverbank. The smell of salty sweat and iron permeates the air._

"No, just a whole lot of trees." Will glances down at the scratched edge of the interrogation table, pushing the memory away. "And the river nearby."

Jack writes something down, a frown marring his brow, before leaning forward. "So, what happened next?"

"I came back home. I heard a commotion coming from the house." Will makes a show of adding a tremble in his voice, unshed tears spring to his eyes though he doesn't let them slide down, figuring that would be overkill to Jack's trained eye. "I-I made sure my dogs stayed behind and went in to investigate...everything else is a blur. I was somehow in the kitchen. And- and _he_ was there."

"Who?"

"Matthew," Will swallows. "He tranquilized me and I woke up in his car...I don't know where we were."

"Cameras caught Matthew Brown and his vehicle making a stop at a gas station. Where you awake at that point?"

"No," Will lies. "I woke up, handcuffed in the car, we were stationed in the middle of nowhere, all I could see were long roads and trees. There was blood all around the backseat. Matthew wasn't there."

"Was _he_ there?" Jack pushes the photos forward.

One of them is a picture of a dark haired man with hazel eyes, dimpled smile beaming at the camera.

"This is Carlo Deogracias. Have you met him before?" Will shakes his head. "Take your time to observe his face. Maybe you recognize him from somewhere."

Will frowns. "I don't know who he is, Jack."

Jack pauses the tape recorder and interlaces his fingers in front of him. "What do you see here, Will?," Jack says in no doubt reference to the crime scene photos Will has still refused to properly look at.

"You know how I feel about looking," Will grunts out. "I don't do this type of work anymore."

"I know Will, but I'm starting to wonder if that's because you're actually afraid of looking, or if it's from guilt." Jack's voice takes on a steel tone. "If you miss any details it will make things so much worse for you later on. So tell me Will, why you've yet to mention why Matthew Brown would have kidnapped you in the first place? Why your wife would assume one singular gift meant you cheated on her? I suspect there's more to this theory of hers. How did you meet Matthew Brown?"

"I don't know what to tell you," Will brings his eyes to glance at the spot between Jack's brows. "I can't remember how I met him. I just know he's been obsessed with me for a long time now."

And finally he looks down at Carlo Deogracias' body. His arms are spread above him, hands and feet nailed to the tree bark. There's a cavity at his center, filled with crested irises. Obscured from view are his hazel eyes, as they are sewn shut. Will is faintly surprised to find a scar running from the corner of his mouth to the height of his right cheekbone, a reflection of the same one he'd given Matthew.

* * *

When he heads home that evening Will is escorted by a pair of police officers, both solemnly swearing to guard Will's safety whilst keeping watch from the outside.

The dogs greet him inside with wagging tails, excited at his return. Their bowls were restocked.

Will frowns. _He was here again._

A momentary annoyance surges through him. It seems Hannibal just comes and goes as he pleases. When he goes up the stairs he finds the box he'd seen in the morning still sitting there, almost innocent looking, perched atop the bedside table next to his lamp. Calligraphy sits within the folded parchment comfortably.

_"You must understand that blood and breath_

_are only elements undergoing change to fuel your radiance._

_Just as the source of light is burning."_

What Will finds inside the box makes him throw up what little he still held in his stomach.

* * *

The tune quivers like aspen in the wind, carrying with it a flurry of excitement and hunger for what is to come. The dizzying skill in which Hannibal relays through his nimble fingers into the keys would enthrall any who bared witness to it. Will Graham by now must have taken a look at his gift. Hannibal wonders what he thought of it.

As he takes a stand he looks over to where he left his device, an article left open on its screen. "THE RIVER STIZIDAE STRIKES AGAIN?" reads across in bold letters.

* * *

"Hello Mr. Brown. How are you feeling today?"

This of course, is only said out of courtesy. Hannibal knows the man most probably feels like shite.

Matthew Brown does not respond. His eyes are empty, faced to the floor, while his parched lips crack.

"You haven't said much since last night."

And even then he didn't utter any coherent syllables. Only screams.

"I..." Matthew clears his throat, "-want a cigarette."

Hannibal scrunches his nose in distaste. "Why won't you speak? You seemed so eager at your arrival. What was it, about 'your Will'."

As if lit by a match, Matthew's eyes gather light. Hannibal receives the impression of a starved dog rabid to be reunited with its owner, and eager to bite.

"My Will doesn't care for you. I told you." Matthew coughed, blood spread across the ground in circular rivulets. "He's never met you. I highly doubt you've ever seen him."

* * *

Will stares at the box still left wide open in the corner of the room, where he tossed it. Both parts horrified and intrigued.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a dreaded chapter because it was a little more technical. Thanks to my friend Apollo who sent me links on how investigation interviews are done. I wrote it a while ago then contemplated deleting it, but figured hey I might as well just post it and not have to deal with the scenes here in this one at a later chapter haha. I needed to get Jack on their tails, surprised Will has lasted this long with what he has been up to without catching the eye of law enforcement.
> 
> Anyway on a side note I made a tumblr! You can check out all my Hannigram art there (that’s pretty much all I post lol). https://harlotshouse.tumblr.com/


End file.
